


The Highest of Seas, The Lowest of Men

by deannawol



Series: The Villainous Pirate and the Young Lieutenant [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical, M/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 101,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deannawol/pseuds/deannawol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all the seas in all the world, there exists no pirate more feared or hated than the Villainous Captain Lambert of <i>The Madness</i>. Tales of his cunning and the black magic that grants him his success are known across the world. Some say that he is devil-born, others that he was cursed as a boy to sail the seas in search of redemption but all agree that to cross paths with <i>The Madness</i> and her white-garbed captain is to know damnation, death and utter despair.</p>
<p>Lieutenant Kristopher Allen, of her Majesty's ship <i>The Hawk</i>, knows all the stories and was once counted amongst the rare few to survive his first encounter with the Villainous Captain. Many tides have passed since then and Kris is burdened with more worldly concerns. His childhood friend, now his fiancée, Katy needs his protection and Kris' duty calls him to sea and battle with the pirate menace in the waters around his Charles Towne home.</p>
<p>He has worries enough for any man but Kris' luck is running out. A wounded <i>Hawk</i> is easy prey and his home port may lie beyond his reach. Kris escaped the Villainous Captain once, but it is surely beyond the hope of any man to survive a second encounter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Weather Wind

**Author's Note:**

> **The Highest of Seas, The Lowest of Men  
>  Or  
> The Terrible Misadventures of Lieutenant Kristopher Allen and the Villainous Pirate Captain A. M. Lambert**
> 
> * * *
> 
> WARNINGS: Slash (M/M) relationship(s), oral sex, violence, graphic descriptions, language used in the 18th century (i.e. period specific terms which may be deemed racist), whipping used as punishment and in a non-BDSM environment.
> 
> AUTHOR NOTES: I want to say a huge thank you to my beta, aramuin/arasygrn, and our writing partner in crime, Tacitus. Their painstakingly good betas and editing means that you won’t have to put up with the many errors that existed in the first draft. As always, any existing errors are my fault. I want to say a huge thank you to husariaagatka as well. But it’s fair to say that without the three of them poking and prodding me, this wouldn’t have gotten written.
> 
> This is possibly the most researched story that I have ever written and I am now the proud owner of at least a dozen books on pirates in general, pirates in specific, the British Navy and sailing. I’ve tried to make it as historically accurate as possible while not adding in too much useless information. I’ve had a lot of fun writing this and I hope that you enjoy reading it.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is not real and no insult is intended. Kris Allen and Adam Lambert, as well as the various others in this story, are real people and I have taken extreme artistic liberty with their characters. No profit is being made from this work. All situations are purely fiction and any relationship to real life is strictly coincidental. Well, apart from the real pirates mentioned in the story, but they never came across _The Madness_.

  


  


 

  


_17th May 1710  
Charles Towne Harbour, Charles Towne, Carolina_  


 

“Come closer, boys, and I’ll tell you a tale. Not one of the long, rambling stories told by drunk men in the tavern, of pirates and treasure, but a true accounting of terror and murder, of blood and gore and the darkest of men.”

The boys, not one older than fourteen, edged closer to Lieutenant Allen, leaning in expectantly. They were a mix of powder monkeys and cabin boys with a newly appointed ensign sitting in. Some were new, brought along by the more experienced boys who knew that one of Mister Allen’s stories beat the wrath of Mister Mills, the Boatswain. It was a part of an agreement that the Lieutenant had with the Boatswain and the Purser to keep the boys occupied while he restocked their ship, _The Hawk_ , and in truth, Kris enjoyed telling the boys of his adventures on the seas, imaginary though many of them were. This was a much better way to pass time until the tide turned than making busy work aboard ship and getting in the men’s way. They knew what they had to do even better than he, and if the littles were to wander among the cargo, then there would sure be an accident.

Kris looked around, as if searching for any man standing on the pier taking too hearty an interest, before continuing, “You will not hear this from some old sea dog who sits beside the fire, spinning a yarn in the hopes of someone buying them another watered down cup of grog. This is no false rumour spun into ever growing tales that shift and change with every murmur of the crowd. No. My tale is true, boys, upon my very honour. True as I am sitting here in front of you now.”

The boys nudged each other and smiled. The younger ones hid in the shadows of the older lads but that would change soon enough.

Kris shook his head, letting his voice fall, “Indeed, I wish that it were not the case, for still it haunts my dreams and edges into my nightmares and sets my blood to ice, but as we put to sea, I would have you know the dangers that you will face out there on the waves.”

Wide eyes from the younger boys and smiles from their elders pushed him on, “The night of which I speak happened shortly after I had been made up to Lieutenant, a little over five years ago now. We had sailed out of Charles Towne that day, bound for Barbuda, a small enough island but a troubled one,” he explained, “There were reports of pirates, you see, sailing the waters between the Americas and the Caribbean islands, capturing any ship that they happened to cross wakes with and putting their crews to the sword. That by itself is not noteworthy,” he shook his head. “The ocean is vast and we all know well that pirates sail the seas even now. But this was different. These were bloodthirsty brutes by all reports, cursed by the devil himself to sail the seas wreaking havoc and leaving widows in their wake, but that was just hearsay and tavern gossip for no man had survived the encounter.”

“We were well to sea when the captain ordered the watches. I was assigned to Middle Watch, never a rewarding watch as it breaks the back of both the night and the man standing it, but I was excited. You see, this was my first watch without an officer standing over me and I trembled with nerves even as I looked forward to the duty assigned me.” He paused to look out to the harbour, to where the sun was dipping ever lower, staring into middle distance as he continued his tale, “The moon was in hiding that night, missing from the sky and,” he sighed, “I suppose that that should have been an omen but in my youth, I laughed it off. I remember now that it had been a mild day and an even milder night, with scarcely a breeze blowing. The crew were abed an hour before the midnight bell rang. It was just Old John on the deck with me. Old John kept us to course with a deft hand on the helm as I walked the railings, eyes on the sea watching for the first hint of sail or trouble. He’d been aboard ships his whole life and I have my suspicions that the captain told him to keep an eye on me that night. Indeed I was glad of it, for trouble would stalk us that night and Lord knows that without him, I would not be standing here to tell you this tale.”

There were gasps from the boys and Kris smiled. The littles looked to their older crewmates and saw them nodding. Old John was a good man, an old sea dog, with a temperament to match but finer man never stood in shoe leather and Kris was glad that he was so well remembered by the boys even though he had left the world two years previous.

“I had just made my way from the bow of the ship down towards the aft when all at once, a wind picked up, blasting gusts through the rigging and making the sails flap with such a crack that it sounded as if we had ridden into the depths of a storm, with thunder splitting the sky. Winches collided with masts, hard enough to leave dents in the solid timber. The rigging snapped taut, whipping back and forth like a cat o’ nine tails swung by a hard boatswain’s arm,” Kris gestured with a hand, snapping it left and right. The boys followed his movements with their eyes. “Keeping my wits about me, I ducked the lines as I ran back towards the wheel, dodging this way and that to avoid the ropes. It was then that I noticed the sea, still calm as you like, calm as ever it had been. I crossed myself in that instant for it was then that I knew that it was an ill wind and that this night would not go easy on us.”

He paused before continuing, “I was almost to the steps up to the mizzen deck, when I heard Old John utter an oath so vile that I believed he must be dying. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, skidding to a stop on the timbers but no injury could I see. I called for his report but he did not answer me, could not answer me for he stood stock still, his arm extended, his finger pointing to the sky,” Kris raised a single finger up, mimicking his words and the boys followed it.

“Against every ounce of will I possessed, I looked up, following his direction to stare at the sky. Twinkling in the night sky were the stars, heavenly hosts above us to guide our way. Nothing worthy of shock and awe, or so was my thought. I was about to express that very opinion to Old John when before my eyes, the North Star blinked out. Just like that, it was gone, and then it’s neighbour with it. Another and another disappeared, leaving only the blackest pitch in their wake.”

The boys looked between each other, and Kris saw the youngest boy, Samuel shift closer to him, gnawing his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“The wind, in that second, gave one final deathly gust, whistling through the sails and then died as suddenly as it had started.” Kris leaned in closer, and dropped his voice to just above a whisper making the boys lean in further to hear his words, “Silence followed on behind that last breath and nothingness on its heels. The night was dead around us and for a second I thought that I had been struck deaf. There was no sound, not even the steady lap of the waves against the hull. I heard Old John mutter a blessing under his breath and the relief that I felt was solid. But my relief died quickly. With only the light of a handful of lanterns to see by, it seemed as though we had been plucked from the world. And that was when we heard it. A bell. Ringing once, twice, thrice and then the silence again.”

“I rushed to the side of the ship, scanning what little of the horizon that I could make out, trying to spot land, for I was sure that somehow we were about to run aground. My mind knew that we were two hundred miles and more from the nearest shore but my heart, my heart would not be told.” He paused again and let his voice drop, “You see, the bell sounded exactly like a church bell knelling out notice of a funeral, slow and steady. It came again, clear and sharp, but with it this time came the first wisps of aether. Curling over the tops of the waves, it rode closer and closer until it licked at the timbers of the ship, climbing the sides to run across the deck. I backed away, afraid that should it touch me it would pull me down into the deepest, darkest Hell. A deathly chill settled over the ship and with each breath, more mist joined the wisps around my feet. I crossed myself again and started to say a prayer to the Virgin but Old John’s hand rested atop my shoulder. He looked down at me and with a weathered voice said ‘The Lord and his mother have turned a blind eye this night. Prayers are for naught. Old Nick rides the waves.’” Kris croaked out the words before returning to his own voice, “I wanted to think him mad, but I knew it was truth that he was speaking.”

“The mists rose higher with each passing minute and still the bell tolled. We could not, either of us, tear our eyes from the depths of the fog and fear clenched tight around our hearts as we saw deep in the depths of the fog, a green light,” Kris reached out as if to touch the memory. “Ethereal and beautiful it crept closer, sending waves of terror before it as it approached. I could hear the creak of rigging and knew that the light must be from a ship though I could not make it out. Siren song called to us and froze us in place. Whispers rose from the fog, calling us closer but we could not move. Even if we had wanted to, it was as if our feet were one with the deck.”

Zachery, one of the older boys, reached out and drew a cold iron nail across the back of Samuel’s neck and the poor boy jumped a foot, crying out in terror. Kris cast a withering look at Zachery and the child ducked his head, smile still on his lips. Samuel shifted closer to Kris, his little hand pressed to Kris’ boot as he put the other on his neck. Shivers still ran through the boy and Kris patted him on the shoulder.

“We could make out the lines of the ship as it approached,” he continued. “Sails darker than the devil’s soul, blacker than the night sky above us. Pendants caught a breeze high on the masts and even in the dark, I could see their colour. Red. A deep crimson that set fear running through me. As we watched, the ship turned to come alongside us and as it did, I saw a sight that quickened my heart. A flag, the ship’s colours. Red as the pendants, red as fresh spilled blood and on it a skull sitting on a bone crossed with a sword.”

The boys gasped. They knew well the description as did all hereabouts in Charles Towne. Though the governor forbade it, many pirates made port here, swapping their customary colours for less provoking flags on their way in, but on the way out to sea again, they taunted the good folk of Charles Towne by flying their despicable flags, and while these colours had not been seen in the port for many a year, the older boys would know well the stories.

Kris played on what little they knew, “Legends in these parts whisper the tales of a ship that travels with black sails and a flag such as that but, in truth, I had believed them to be little more than stories. The conjurations of men too deep in the bottle, but that night, I found that I was wrong. For before us was _The Madness_ , captained by the most feared pirate in these parts. It’s said that the Master of _The Madness_ walks the decks with Davy Jones at his right hand and Lucifer at his left.”

The boys crossed themselves, touching their foreheads, stomachs, shoulders and hearts with a speed that no priest would approve of, only to repeat it several more times.

“It’s said that there is a place carved out for him in Hell but that a pact with the Sea herself keeps him from the Judgement that he so richly deserves. I do not know the truth of that but one thing is true and certain, and that is that widows up and down the coast curse the name of Captain Lambert, for stealing away their husbands, casting them down into the depths for the folly of opposing him.”

The younger boys looked to the older boys for confirmation and were rewarded with nods.

“I swear to you now, boys, that when I looked upon that evil flag that night, my heart near stopped beating as fear and terror knotted themselves to my spine and settled in my stomach. But that was not the entirety of it,” he shook his head, “Far from it. Standing on the deck opposite us, armed with swords and pistols were a ghostly crew. Brought forth by some arcane trickery no doubt, dead men faced us down.” The boys gasped but Kris did not slow in his telling of the tale, “Bones bleached white by salt winds, grinning widely at us and beckoning us to come closer. I stepped back and back and stumbled against the rigging, cracking my head against the main mast. Maybe the Lord was on my side, or maybe it was just divine provenance but the blow was enough to knock some wits into me and I opened my mouth to raise the alarm. No words came at first but I was relentless, running for the alarm bell and striking it hard as I was able and it was not a moment before cries of distress were heard across the ship.”

“Footsteps rang out in the silence and I knew that my voice and the bell had carried. The captain came first and stopped beside me. He asked me for my report but his eye caught the other ship before I could reply. He ordered the crew to stations while dead men watched and mocked. The captain gave the signal to fire cannon and not even a minute later, shot sailed through the skies to the boat opposite. We waited with baited breath for the smoke to clear, hoping, praying that our cannon had been true. And praise the Lord they had! Broken and scattered, our enemies were spread across the deck.”

The boys cheered and Samuel smiled up at Kris. Kris paused long enough to ruffle the lad’s hair before continuing, his voice dropping low again.

“We had thought that was an end to it, that with a single volley of our cannon that we had defeated the dread pirate and his crew. I looked to the captain and saw a smile on his face. But that smile faded and died when we heard the cry from the other ship as from below decks, there came pouring out a multitude more men, each as unnatural as the twice dead crew that stood on deck only moments before,” Kris shook his head, “There was no time to brace as they grabbed ropes and swung over, too cowardly to even attempt to match us with guns for they knew we would outmatch them in every way. Without hesitation, I drew my sword and prepared to engage.”

Kris sighed mournfully, “My father warned me when I was much younger of the dangers of swordfights but never one word had he said, nor instruction had he given, concerning how one goes about fighting a man with no flesh. I fought like a man possessed, so focused was I on defeating these abominations, slicing and parrying the blade that whistled close to my ear, slashing and kicking, hoping for a lucky strike and with the Lord’s blessing, I bested my first man,” Kris mimed his actions out and boys ducked his imaginary blade, “But no sooner than I had lowered my sword to take a steadying breath than another was upon me. And another stepped forward as his mate was put down and so it continued. I ducked and weaved through the hoards, sending these dead men back to their Maker. And I was not alone. No. The crew, every man of them, fought and fought but for every man we put down, there seemed to be two more just waiting to cross swords with us.”

A quiet voice from beside his foot, Samuel, asked, “What about Captain Lambert?”

Kris smiled, and scruffed the boys hair again, “Such a question, Samuel. You will surely make Captain one day if you keep on with such questions as that.”

The boy smiled at the compliment, chest swelling under the praise and Kris answered, “In truth, I did not have a moment to take my bearings until after I had struck down my fifth opponent. I was braced against the railings, with my own men surrounding me. I looked to the Captain and saw that he was in trouble. I looked for any friendly faces around him, for some aid to direct his way but we were, to a man, engaged. Knowing my duty, I moved to aid the Captain, and as I fought to get to his side, it was then that I felt his gaze. I was pulled to a stop for a fraction of a moment and when I looked up and over at _The Madness_ , I saw him standing there, his piercing gaze pinning me to the deck.”

Kris stared out into the middle distance as he spoke, letting his memories free, “I remember him well, a mountain of a man- no, that is not right, a giant to be sure but lithe, strong but not thick as many strong men are. He was tall, taller than any man that I had met before that day, taller than any man that I have met since. He wore white, standing out against the darkness of the night, almost glowing under the green of the lights. Standing there, with a rope in one hand and a sword sharp enough to sunder heaven in the other, I was set to believe every rumour ever heard about him.”

“It was with an elegant grace that should not be achievable by a man of his stature that he swung across to _The Hawk_. Releasing the rope while still in the air, he landed on cat’s feet atop the timbers and set to work divesting our ship of its loyal crew,” Kris paused for a second, “His blade sang through the air, catching men as it swung. There was a deadly beauty to the stroke; each blow felled a loyal crewmate of _The Hawk_ and still I could not pull my eyes from him. In the end, it was blood that tore my gaze away, my own blood for I had been caught by a skeleton blade,” Kris raised the sleeve of his shirt to show the boys the scar running along the meat of his forearm. They gasped. Kris ran a finger over the scar as he spoke, “I fought the abomination who had wounded me, and fought him hard, but I must admit that my attention was split. I kept eyes on the Pirate Captain as he made his way through our men, even as I fought to the Captain’s side.”

There was sadness in his voice as he spoke, “The decks were wet with blood, and I would swear most of it spilled by his hand, but he seemed to be above it. Indeed, not a drop of it dared to touch him. It was as if he stepped upon the very air rather than risk toe upon our ship. And still he watched me, eyes flicking to me between slashes of his sword. I knew I was marked for death that night and that it would come at the tip of his bloody blade.”

Kris clasped his hands together and looked up to the sky, “Dispatching my opponent, I opened my heart and prayed that the Virgin Mother keep me safe that night and guard over my own mother, sparing her from the loss of a child. But no sign came that my prayers were heard and still he moved across the deck. A wide slash split open two men though he spared them not a moment’s notice. The first, an able bodied seaman by the name of Jones, struggled to keep his guts where God had intended but the blow was such that he may as well have tried to empty the sea with a cup and with a sickening splash, they covered the deck. His mate was also in a poor state, cut deep enough that he may well have been two parts of the one man with only his backbone holding him together. They fell to stare lifelessly up to the night sky and still Lambert moved on, coming ever closer.”

“I blinked and he had stolen the life of another man, splitting this one tip to toe, gizzard to garters. My stomach rolled and I had to swallow down the bile that rose in my throat. I lost sight of him in that instant and no search uncovered him. Blood washed the deck red in ever increasing amounts, coming ever closer to where I stood. I backed away step by tentative step, until I hit an obstacle so solid that it may have been made from the hardest stone under Heaven,” Kris looked down at the boys, taking in their wide eyes and open mouths. Samuel hugged his leg now.

“I turned, sword swinging as I had been trained but it fell helplessly upon another blade, a blade wet with blood, a blade I knew well. Sapphire blue eyes looked down at me and I stumbled backwards. My footing unsteady already was made worse by the blood of comrades beneath my feet and I fell. He advanced on me, a look that would have carried lesser men down into the depths of Hell in his eye and I scrambled backwards, trying desperately to gain my feet. He swung his blade and I felt it slice clean through my shirt, leaving a trace of red behind. Grabbing my sword tightly, I attempted to catch his next strike but from my position it was impossible and my sword skittered away, my arm stinging from the shock of metal on metal. There was nothing behind me but an acre of deck and the bodies of comrades but still I did not give up. My fingers found a pistol, dropped by someone and thankfully still loaded. The grip was wet under my hands but I prayed that the powder would be dry.” Kris gestured with a hand, curling three fingers back to his palm to make a pistol. “My hand shook as I squeezed the trigger and I looked away as…”

“Kristopher Neil Allen, what in the Good Lord’s name do you think you’re doing? Telling stories like that to young children? Can you not see that you have scared them half to the grave?”

The boys jumped a foot clear into the age, with Samuel crying out in shock. Kris was no exception to the surprise and was startled to his feet, his hand reaching for his sword on reflex before he recognised the woman who had so deftly sneaked up behind him and was even now regarding him with a most cold look and her hands braced on her hips.

“Have you no defence, Mister Allen, or has your honeyed tongue deserted you?”

Kris ducked his head as his cheeks pinked under his fiancée’s gaze. Miss Katherine O’Connell - or Katy as she preferred her closest friends to call her - had a tongue sharper than a knife when she wanted and the last thing that Kris wished before setting sail was to be caught on the other side of it. With a gesture she shooed him back and took his seat, spreading her skirts on the box before gathering Samuel to her.

“Oh my darling child, did the story scare you?” she asked as she cuddled the young boy to her bosom.

Kris allowed her a moment to mother Samuel as he plucked his coat from the wooden block that had been its coat hook and pulled it on, straightening the dark blue jacket and tweaking the cuffs until he was again presentable. He untucked the wrapped queue of brown hair that had been caught beneath the neck of the jacket and debated whether or not to wear his hat, but decided that it was not proper in the company of his fiancée, no matter how unsettled his hair was.

When he looked back, he saw Samuel still pressed to his fiancée’s chest, with such a smile on his face that Kris needed to bite his lip to stifle the smile that threatened. When she pulled him back and asked whether he was still scared, he simply nodded and dived back into her embrace. The boys around nudged each other and smirked at the display and Kris’s smile changed to an unhappy moue.

Glancing behind Katy to her ever present maidservant, he implored the woman to take a hand in the situation. She inclined her head and touched Katy’s shoulder to gain her attention.

“Ma’am, I’m sure these boys have chores that they need to attend to before the ship sets sail. We should not keep them from their duties.”

Katy looked up at the older woman and smiled, “You’re right of course, Ellie.”

Giving Samuel another hug, she released him, much to his displeasure. The boys bowed their heads, touching their crooked forefingers to their foreheads as they walked past her, making their way to the ship and Mister Mills. Samuel was almost gone when he turned on his heel and ran back to give Katy a quick peck on the cheek.

Katy smiled indulgently and waved him off, Ellie clucking in displeasure behind her. But the smile was back on Kris’ face. The boy was a charmer to be sure, his first time at sea and already leaving women in tears in his wake. In honesty, Kris could not begrudge him the comfort of a woman’s arms, even if it was his fiancée. The lad had lost his mother some months previous and with his father a drunkard layabout, the only choices that had been left to him were a life at sea or scraps at the poorhouse. He just wished that he had not been so blatant at his attempts for affection in front of the other boys.

“You shouldn’t tell them such tales, Kris,” Katy turned to him, her face sad. “It does them no good to scare them so.”

“Katy,” Kris started, “They are boys, and boys will be boys. If it is not me telling the tales, they will only make up worse, or the crew will tell them after dusk. They have been through worse, some of them and will again, I fear.”

“Kris...” her words faded out. It was a full minute before she spoke again, “Is it so very dangerous out there?”

Kris weighed what to tell her; the truth, unvarnished and absolute or the easy lie that she would prefer. It was a moot question. Since their childhoods, Kris had not uttered a single lie to Katy and he would not start now.

“It has its dangers, yes. But we are a good ship and a better crew.”

“You will return to me, won’t you?” her gaze was on the ground and Kris crouched before her and took her hands in his.

“Of course I will, love.”

As he looked into her face, he saw the first tear making its way down her cheek. She was beautiful, with golden blonde hair and blue eyes the colour of a shallow sea in the sunlight and he could not stand to see her cry.

“Katherine, love, what is wrong? Why do you cry?”

He looked from her to her maid and back again. Ellie’s mouth was set in a thin, hard line of displeasure, but her gaze was not on him, which worried him all the more. He had crossed the maid before and barely lived to tell of it. He recognised the look upon her face and was thankful that he was not the cause of it, but it left him with questions as to what had Katy so upset and Ellie so angered.

“Tell me, Katy, please,” he didn’t plead but it was a close run thing.

“Miss Katherine, you must,” Ellie placed a hand on Katy’s shoulder and her voice hardened, “The man cannot guess and we do not have such time as to allow him the time to name everything under the sky.”

Kris could take it as an offense but he knew Ellie well enough to realise that the woman’s words were aimed more at Katy than at him. Whatever had Katy in tears must be serious indeed for the maid to take such a tactic.

“He’s going to break the engagement,” Katy blurted out the words, her hands tightening on Kris’, tightening to the point of pain. “God help me, Kris, he’s going to break it.”

Kris rocked back on his heels, his jaw dropping, “What? But he cannot. He signed the agreement papers. I was there. To annul the engagement would put him at penalty. My father...”

Katy squeezed his hand to get his attention, “My father is a powerful man, with powerful friends. You know that as well as I.”

“And my father is Commander of the Garrison here and rumour puts him as Governor by the end of the year,” Kris argued. “If your father moves to annul the engagement, my father will hold him to account.”

“And account is all that it will be. Your father will be given coin aplenty and paid off and I will be...” her voice stuttered to a stop. “And I will be at his mercy.”

“I will not see it happen, Katy. My word upon it,” Kris promised, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand in comforting circles. “Tell me, how did you find the plot?”

It was Ellie who answered, “Geoffrey was present while Mister O’Connell spoke of the matter to another man and was instructed to deliver, or have delivered, several letters to men about the city and county.”

Geoffrey, one of the servants in Katy’s father’s house, had been a constant figure in Katy’s life growing up, more so than her own father had ever been and Kris knew that the man looked on Katy as a daughter. But for him to break his loyalty to Katy’s father and tell her of such a plan was... It was unthinkable. Such a warning could only mean that the fellows to whom Katy’s father spoke must be the blackest of knaves, scoundrels and rakes with only their money to separate them from the scum they were. Kris could not leave her to that fate.

“The agreement between your father and I said that we would wait until I was granted either the rank of First Lieutenant or _The Hawk_ was put to rest and its crew scattered,” Kris recalled, “The Captain has it on good authority that the Admiralty has plans to expand the fleet in the Americas in the next few months and he is to be granted a Commodore’s rank, which means that there will be a shuffle between the ships. All we need to do is hold out until then, Katy love. Just a little longer.”

She shook her head, “I do not think...” Her words were caught and she tried again, “He means to do it while you are at sea, Kris. By the time you reach shore, I will be wed to some hideous ogre. Swapped for land or money or both. Traded as a commodity just as he did to Sarah. May the Lord have mercy upon her soul.”

Kris took a deep breath. He remembered well what happened to Sarah, Katy’s older sister. The doctor had called it an accident but the bruises about her face and throat had left little doubt in anyone’s mind that the doctor had been bought by Mister O’Connell to cover his crimes and given words to say when asked. Kris had held Katy close during the funeral, not caring what any idle tongue had to say on the matter, and almost laid out her father when he had threatened Katy with the ill words to mind her actions lest she know every pain that Sarah had felt before her life was snuffed out. To say that Katy was scared of such a fate was to understate the case. It was partly the reason behind their hasty engagement.

“Katy, dearest, I promised you then, and I promise you now that such a fate will never befall you,” Kris moved to sit beside her and gather her into his arms. He gently placed kisses upon her brow and whispered sweet words in her ear to calm her. “We do not sail for another hour and I swear to you that I shall have plans in place before that time...” He trailed off, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Katy, what say you we put a sty in the ointment right now. I’m sure that if I explained the situation that the Captain would marry us. Here and now.”

Katy pulled back and looked at him, a frown upon her brow, “And have you leave me standing on the dock with nothing but a ring and your surname? No.” she sighed, “I doubt that it would work anyway. My father would have it annulled as soon as your ship left the shore,” she shook her head. “Besides, it would break your mother’s heart and I would be in disgrace. Tongues would wag about the suddenness and everyone about would be watching for the rise of my belly.”

He had to admit that her assessment was accurate, “You are most probably right, love.” He thought for a moment, trying to determine a course of action that would best protect his fiancée. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully, “Then, why not let us simply eliminate your father from the situation entirely. Move to my father’s house. No one would talk. It is not uncommon for the engaged to move to her betrothed’s house while awaiting the wedding when he is not there. My mother already loves you and would welcome the company. With Daniel at sea and father spending so much time at the Garrison, it would be ideal.”

Katy shook her head, “That would leave my mother to my father’s tender care with none to stand between them. She does not have the strength to suffer through his displeasure. She’s fragile, Kris, too fragile. I do not know if I can, in good conscience leave her there undefended.”

Kris’ face showed his disappointment at himself for not considering her situation before now and being forced to decide on a course of action with the hourglass running empty.

“I am sorry, Kris,” she spoke softly, and Kris gathered her close, “I do not mean to turn down every suggestion.”

Kris touched a finger to her lips, silencing her apology, “Do not trouble yourself over that, love, we will find a way.”

There was a muttering behind and Kris twisted to look back at Ellie who was rolling her eyes to Heaven.

“You have a suggestion, Ellie?” Kris asked, eager to hear what the matron had to say.

“Begging your pardon, Mister Allen, but it is obvious that you are used to dealing with dire situations,” she quirked the corner of her lip, “Perhaps if you consider a less drastic course of action. I know it’s not my place...”

“Please, Ellie, if you have an idea, please share it,” Katy reached out a hand to her maid and grasped it tight.

“Well,” she looked hesitant, and Katy bade her continue, “You’re borrowing trouble before it ever finds you. You have Geoffrey and me watching out for you. Cook too and some of the older folk. We all know who can be trusted in the house and who can’t. We’ll watch out for signs that your father is starting discussions and well, sir, if the offer is still open, perhaps then Miss Katherine could be invited by your mother to spend some time with her. None would bat an eyelid at a woman such as Missus Allen wanting some daughterly companionship, especially given that Commander Allen is so busy up at the Garrison.”

“That would work, and hopefully keep your father from his suspicions,” Kris mulled it over, “But we could not use it too often. If your father even thinks that we...”

Katy cut across him, “If he does, then we go with your plan and I ask your mother for sanctuary.”

Kris nodded, “You promise me that at the first sign of trouble you will run.”

“I will.”

“And that if he should raise hand to you, you will tell my father.” Katy started to protest, but Kris held up a hand, “No, Katy, this is not negotiable. I will not have him treat you worse than his hounds. If he so much as touches you, you are to leave and tell my father the reason behind it. He will give you his protection until I return.”

Katy looked him deep in the eye and saw the seriousness there. Nodding, she agreed.

“Ellie, I will have your word also,” Kris looked up at the maid.

“You have it, sir,” she nodded, her face serious and Kris knew that if the woman had to drag Katy out shrieking like a fishwife that she would do it and without a second’s hesitation.

“Very well then,” Kris looked back to Katy, “It is decided. I will send a note to my father and tell him of the situation before we set sail tonight. He will inform my mother to expect your arrival.”

Katy pressed close to his side and kissed him on the cheek, “My knight saviour.”

Kris blushed at the praise and stammered out nonsense.

“Mister Allen,” a voice shouted from down the dock and Kris looked up to see Mister Mills waving to attract his attention. “Captain Forester sends his regards and wishes to see his senior officers in his wardroom forthwith.”

Kris acknowledged the order and watched Mister Mills make his way back towards the gang plank and _The Hawk_.

“I have to...” Kris let the words trail off.

Katy nodded and took a deep breath, forcing a smile onto her face, “I should go too. It’s getting late.”

“Quite,” Kris agreed.

Katy leaned in for one last embrace, one last kiss on his cheek before pulling back.

“Take care of yourself out there. If I have to go out to sea to teach those damnable pirates a lesson, then I will.”

Kris laughed and stood, offering a hand to help Katy to her feet.

“There is no pirate on the seas brave enough to face you down, love. Not a one,” he assured her, “So I shall be quite safe. I will return as soon as I am able, Katy.”

She was on the verge of tears again, but fighting bravely, “If you make port in Boston or are granted shore leave on some beautiful Caribbean island, will you pick up a trinket for me?”

“Of course, love.”

They separated, with Katy turning on her heel and walking away before the tears in her eyes made their way down her cheeks again. Crying once in an evening was her limit and Kris knew that she could not stand for him to think her weak.

Kris gestured to Ellie to pause a second and dug through his pocket pulling out a bundle of paper notes. He plucked about half the papers from the bundle and rolled them tight before pushing them into Ellie’s hand. She looked down at the roll, eyes widening as she recognised it as about ten pounds. She protested and tried to return the money until Kris ordered her to take it. For emergencies. She quieted down at that and tucked the money into a pocket in the lining of her cloak. Nodding once, she wished him safe voyage and was off on the heels of her mistress.

Kris watched until they had vanished amongst the busy crowds of the streets then turned towards the berth where _The Hawk_ was docked. He tucked the money away and placed his cap upon his head, straightening it as best he could. He hunted through his pockets for a plain piece of paper but nothing came to hand. He was aboard before he found paper and something with which to write. He quickly penned a note to his father warning him of Mister O’Connell’s treachery and the plan he hoped to hatch and sealed it.

“Samuel?” he called and the boy came running.

Kris drew two shillings from his pocket and held them up in front of the boy. The boy’s eyes followed the coins as they moved.

“I have need of a fast runner to deliver a message. Do you know of someone who would be able for the task?” He could see eagerness in the boy’s eyes and scruffed his hair, “Do you know the white house just beside the Town Hall?”

The boy nodded.

“I need you to deliver this note there. Knock on the front door and when the man answers it, tell him that it’s from Lieutenant Allen.”

The boy repeated the words carefully and Kris handed over one of the shillings.

“On the way back, I want you to stop in the general mercantile and ask the merchant for a shilling’s worth of boiled sweets. Do you understand?” Kris asked and smiled as the boy nodded. Kris held up the other shilling, “And I’m sure that you can find something to do with this.”

Samuel nodded earnestly.

“Best be off, we set sail shortly and you don’t want to miss the boat.”

Samuel shook his head and darted off, running down the gangplank and weaving in and out through the crowds as only a young boy can. Kris smiled to the boatswain, “The exuberance of youth, eh, Mister Mills.”

The boatswain smiled and Kris checked the tide marks and the angle of the sun before descending the stairs below decks to attend the Captain. Worry still gnawed at his stomach and he feared for Katy, but he had done all that he could. He placed his trust in his father, his mother and the Almighty and took a deep breath, trying to push it out of his mind before knocking on the Captain’s door.

“Enter!”

Kris straightened his jacket and pulled open the door, stepping through and tugging the door closed behind him.


	2. Fair Seas and Fair Sails

  


 

_18th May 1710  
To Sea, 10 Leagues out of Charles Towne Harbour_

 

 _The Hawk_ was a beautiful vessel, easily the most handsome ship this side of Paradise, or at least that was how she shone in Kris’ eyes with her long, sleek lines of polished oak that gleamed beneath the sun. A forty-four gun frigate, commissioned in Plymouth, England and berthed out of Charles Towne, Carolina, _The Hawk_ was stem to stern the best ship in service to the Admiralty abroad. Kris had served aboard her timbers for nigh on ten years, from midshipman to his current rank as second lieutenant. Fast through the waters and unstoppable with a wind behind her, _The Hawk_ was the jewel of the Admiralty’s crown in the Americas and eminently capable of completing the task set before them.

There were at present two hundred and fifty three souls on board, and now that they were well out in the open sea, most of them gathered on the main deck awaiting Captain Forester’s official address. The officers stood united upon the mizzen deck, their eyes focused on the men below as Mister Mills whistled the assembly to order. The men were a ragtag group, dressed in whatever hard wearing clothing they had brought with them, but they were good lads. Solid and steady in peace or in war and a better crew Kris could not hope to have.

“The Admiralty has dispatched us with a most urgent task,” Captain Forester began, leaning on the railing as he addressed the men, “It seems as if the pirate scum in these waters hereabouts have seen fit to venture out to sea again. Apparently they have forgotten the last good thrashing that we gave them. It seems we shall have to remind them of their place on our seas. What say you boys? Shall we send them packing back to Tortuga or down to the deep?”

There was a hearty cheer from the men below. Kris smiled at their enthusiasm. _The Hawk_ had a reputation for giving a bloody nose to any pirate ship it happened to come across and the crew delighted in that reputation. Saying that you served aboard _The Hawk_ was good for a free flagon or two in any tavern in Charles Towne, while sharing a story that hadn’t been heard a hundred times or more was coin enough for a night’s worth of spirits.

Other ships had quite a time press ganging on the docks but men lined up to serve aboard _The Hawk_ and just a day before, Kris had personally turned away fifty men.

Captain Forester continued, “I am aware that we have lost some of our old shipmates and welcomed more into our midst and, as such, I feel it important to remind the crew that this is a British Naval vessel and as such we have distinct rules that are laid down in the Articles of War handed down by the Queen herself.” The captain raised a leather bound folio, tied tight with a leather thong. Slipping the bindings, he reverently opened the folio and with a firm voice started to read out the Articles of War that any Naval man could recite by heart. Though not strictly necessary, Captain Forester always found time to inform the crew of his expectations. He finished with a word of declaration that Kris has heard before, “I would have it known that while I am harsh, I will be fair in my judgements and every man accused of a crime will have chance to speak in his own defence or to have someone speak for him.”

Kris knew the truth of Captain Forester. The man was firm and stood for no foolery on board his ship and in return for their loyalty and service, he had his lieutenants ensure that all men received fair measures of food and drink each day.

“I believe that given the task set before us that drills will be in order,” the Captain turned to the officers beside him, “Your men to their stations please. Mister Allen, if you would order the men to set targets.”

Kris called the order and men ran to the boats, bringing barrels with them as midshipmen ran down the stairs as they called the men to stations. The call was picked up by the Boatswain and down the line to the mates. It never failed to amuse Kris precisely how many times orders were repeated. Kris made his way down to the main deck. The men scrambled to stations as Kris pulled out his pocket watch and took note of the second hand’s location.

“Starboard side, main deck crews, open covers,” he called as he made his way through the men.

Already there was chaos and experience shone through in the trained men, leaving the newly signed crew to scurry back and forth in dire need of direction.

“You men there, spread yourselves between the crews,” Kris ordered his voice carrying clearly over the din, “One to a crew until you’ve all got assignments. There are more crews below decks. Get your instruction from the crew chief.” He watched for the signal from the boatmen and once the targets were placed, he recalled them to the ship in preparation.

“All targets in place, Captain,” Kris called.

“Commence the drills,” came the order.

He turned to the littles who were caught up in the excitement, “Powder monkeys, get to the powder stores and let’s get some work out of you,” Kris smiled to take the sting out of the words and the boys ran.

Kris stood at ease, watching the midshipmen order the men to positions and tell them what to do. For the most part they were competent, but the Admiralty had seen fit to assign the nephew of a rather noteworthy Admiral to their number and the boy was shy and quiet as a church mouse. That would never do. The Captain had entrusted the boy to Kris due to Kris’ experience and his connection with the younger members of the crew. The boy was not the first he had mentored and Kris doubted that he would be the last. It was flattering that the Captain believed that by taking the boy under his wing that he could make him a passable officer. As the monkeys ran to the powder stores, Kris watched the boy second guess himself and what needed to be done.

By Kris’ reckoning, the lad was no more than seventeen and by his attitude, this was his first commission onboard a naval vessel. He was perhaps a shade taller than Kris and with a face that would make the Angels cry. Dithering helplessly amid the diligent seamen, the boy looked to be close to breaking.

“Midshipman Archuleta, to me,” Kris ordered, his voice carrying easily over the men’s racket.

The young man came quickly and Kris leaned in to share some hard-learned advice, “The men must never know that you are new to anything you do. They look to you for confidence. If you are untroubled by the situation, then they will be untroubled. Every word from your lips must be sure and your conviction must be absolute, especially so if you find yourself unsure. You have a Petty Officer beside you on your crew, and he knows the boat and the crew better than you ever shall.”

Kris saw the look of wounded pride cross the young man’s face and continued hastily, “Oh, do not think that I mean it badly, Mister Archuleta, but it is true. I would wager that your Petty Officer could put his knowledge against that which the Captain knows and comfortably out answer him,” Kris eased the boy’s hackles. “He has been around ships longer than you have and has worked every job possible in his time. If you find yourself uncertain of a procedure, let him be your guide. Mister Cook, I have found, is not shy about giving his opinion if asked but will never presume where his knowledge is not welcomed.” Kris paused a moment, “Mister Archuleta, there are many invisible jobs aboard ship that are not written in any manual, and I am of the opinion that the only reason that someone has not included them within the pages of some dry and boring tome, is to trip up young officers and remind us that we are still only god’s creations and not the Lord himself. Make a friend of Mister Cook and he will see you right, Mister Archuleta.”

The young man looked to him in stern consideration for a moment before bobbing his head and thanking Kris for his words.

“Now, Mister Archuleta, I believe that you have some guns to fire.”

“Aye, sir.”

The powder monkeys were back now and between them carried a full brace of small sacks filled with enough powder to load full shot into all cannons sitting on the main deck. The sacks, though small, were quite heavy and Kris knew the boys arms would be aching by the end of the drill.

“Midshipmen, make ready,” Kris ordered as he looked at his pocket watch. “Roll out your guns.”

The cannon, now loaded with heavy shot, were primed and ready just waiting on his word.

“Mister Archuleta,” Kris smiled, “On your order.”

The smile that overtook the boy’s face was wide and genuine and he took a moment to straighten himself up before shouting “Fire!” The first cannon boomed, sending shot over the water and smoke into the air. The midshipman moved down the row, repeating his order until the last of the cannons had rolled back, ready to be reloaded. The other batteries had caught up now, sending shot out across the waves.

Kris checked his watch again and turned to the mizzen deck and with a salute called out, “Starboard Midships - all cannon fired, Captain. One minute, twenty eight by my reckoning, sir.”

Captain Forester checked with Mister Rogers, the first lieutenant, and nodded. Kris turned to his men and smiled, “Good work, men. Well done.”

It was a full three minutes before the last cannon was fired and the Captain was not satisfied.

“Even the slowest of pirates could limp away given such shoddy gunmanship,” Captain Forester told them, “We can do better than that, can we not? Reset the targets and let us try once more. An extra measure of rum for the first crew to loose all their cannon.”

Kris turned to the gun crews and smiled, “You heard the captain. Let’s show him what we’re made of.” Kris clapped Samuel on the back, “Powder monkeys to stores. Double-quick if you please. We’ve got rum to win!”

The men laughed as the boys ran, pushing their friends out of the way as they navigated the decks. The men prepared, making sure that everything was set by the time the boys returned. The men called encouragement at their own monkeys and jeered one of the others who tripped over some rope. Kris was in mixed spirits when he saw Samuel stop to help the other boy to his feet. While he was proud of the cooperation and knew that mid-battle such an action might surely save the ship, he also knew that the help might cost them the win. Kris opened his mouth to instruct the monkeys to cover but they were already moving and the men were reaching out to them. The cannon were loaded, primed and Kris didn’t hesitate in ordering them to fire.

The first gun fired and then the next and all down the line. Kris glanced at his watch, counting down the seconds. He wanted a better time than their last attempt. He whispered his encouragement, not daring to hold his breath. His excitement grew as the eighth, ninth and tenth cannon fired. And he was done.

“Starboard Midships - all cannon fired, Captain. One minute, twenty two seconds, sir.”

Behind him came another shout, “Port Midships – all cannon fired, Captain. One minute, twenty two seconds, sir.”

Kris spun to look at his fellow lieutenant. Joshua Harte, a second lieutenant like himself but a year younger, looked as nervous as he felt. He turned to look at the captain. Behind him, he could feel the anxiety of the men as they awaited the captain’s decision. Two more shouts came from below decks and the tension rose.

The captain conferred with Mister Rogers and nodded. Kris looked to the men and met their eyes, letting them know that they did a good job no matter the outcome.

“Mister Allen, Mister Harte, it appears by your estimations that you completed the drill at the same time,” the captain leaned on the railing, “But since there is quite a quantity of rum sitting on the result,” he paused. “Mister Harte, might I suggest that you make an appointment with a watchmaker once we make port again. You appear to be losing time. Mister Allen, I’ll have the steward put aside a double measure for your men tonight and excuse them the watch.”

The men’s cheers were deafening, and with them the cheers of the midshipmen under his command.

“Well done, men,” Kris congratulated them. “Samuel, to me.”

The boy made his way over, his head bowed. He looked as if he were on the way to the gallows. Kris took a deep breath and schooled his face to a stern visage that he more associated with his father than himself.

“What you did during the drill…” Kris started.

Samuel cut in, “I know, Mister Allen. I’m sorry Mister Allen. Won’t happen again.”

Kris shook his head, “It’s rude to interrupt an officer, Samuel.”

“Sorry, Mister Allen,” the boy blushed.

“Alright then, Samuel,” Kris started again, “What you did during the drill was… If we were in the middle of a battle, every hand must do their duty. Your comrade fell in his haste and with your help, he was able to get his powder to his crew a few seconds sooner. And should we be defending ourselves, I expect every man amongst you to help your fellow crewmembers. And for that,” Kris dug in his pocket and pulled out a small tin. He opened the tin and held it out to Samuel, “Boiled sweet?”

 

 

The sun was just slipping behind the horizon as Kris stepped out on deck. His mind was still back in Charles Towne and he could not settle into sleep and so he had traded his watch with Mister Harte. No matter what method he used to distract himself, it was no use. Katy’s troubled face lingered in his minds eye and he felt useless out here, hundreds of miles from her in her hour of need. He knew that his father would take her in, should the need arise, but still he felt as if he were abandoning her and his responsibility to her. But there was nothing that could be done now. The captain would not condone turning the ship about for what would be deemed an affair of the heart. Another reason that he had asked Harte for the trade; he needed time to think, to get his mind back on the waves.

Below decks his men enjoyed their rum as they taught the young boys some of the bawdier songs that they knew. Kris smiled as he listened, imagining the wide eyed looks that would sit upon the boys' faces when someone took them aside to explain the lines of verse. They were younger than usual by his reckoning, or maybe that was just his perception of time. He could not recall being that tiny and being about sails even though he knew that he must have been. His father had brought him along as cabin boy at the princely age of seven, and caused his mother palpitations at the action, but Kris had loved every moment of his time aboard ship. He was awarded more space than normal by the crew owing to his family connections but once the first shot was fired, it was every man for himself and they had welcomed his hands in the thick of things then.

His father had always said that the measure of a man was how he comported himself at times of stress and that was a measure that Kris stood over. A good fight made cowards of braggarts and made meek men heroes and Kris wondered how this crew would fare once the hammer was down. They had taken on a lot of new men this time, indeed it would have been Kris’ turn to lead one of the pressgangs in port had there not been enough able and willing me. It was a loathsome job but a necessary one all the same at times. But even now, there were few faces amongst the new men that he recognised. More often than not, there were a goodly number of returning men but with an increase in the naval presence in the Americas, it was easy to sign aboard a good ship. According to several of the Taverniers by the docks, there was a new crowd sailing these days, a rake of men that hadn’t been seen in Charles Towne before, a rougher crowd, but Kris had thankfully not seen evidence of such amongst the men that had signed on board.

Footsteps sounded behind him and Kris turned a little to look over his shoulder. Mister Archuleta stood a respectable distance from his shoulder, scuffing his shoes on the deck as if trying to give voice to a question weighing heavily on his shoulders or force words from his throat.

“A good evening, Mister Archuleta,” Kris greeted him, gesturing him to come to the ships railing.

He stepped forward, bobbing his head as he did. Kris smiled. It showed that the boy was used to life amongst the corridors of the Admiralty, bowing and scraping and trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. The Captain and the crew would soon knock the edges off him.

“You did well earlier,” Kris remarked, “I cannot remember if I told you that.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered, his voice quiet and barely carrying to Kris’ ears.

Kris turned to look at him, “You seem troubled, man, is there anything I can do to help? Please tell me that the crew has not led you a wild goose chase below decks in search of the downstairs privy. By Heaven, we lost our last ensign that way. I expect that one day we will find him, still wandering about in search of the littlest room.”

The boy smiled at that, and Kris’s own smile widened.

“So what can I do for you, Mister Archuleta?” Kris asked.

Archuleta scuffed his shoe on the deck again before speaking, “In truth, sir, when people call me Mister Archuleta, I have a hard time not looking around for my uncle, or indeed, my father.”

“Ah,” Kris nodded, “I remember the sensation. But certain formalities need to be addressed aboard Naval vessels.” Even in the dying light of the day, Kris could see the flush on the boy’s cheeks, “However, I think that when it is just us, I could be coaxed into calling you something besides your surname. Your given name is David, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “But my friends usually call me Archie.”

“Archie,” Kris tried the name, “I believe I can remember that. So what can I do for you, Archie?”

Archie’s face lit up at the acknowledgement of friendship and Kris knew then, to the depths of his soul, that this boy’s expressiveness was going to be trouble. It seemed as if he could not keep a single emotion from his face. And that would bring him nothing but hard times aboard ship. Indeed, it had been a problem that Kris had suffered back during his own ensigncy, and one quite quickly cured. However, Kris did not employ the harsh methods that his tutor favoured, and would not either.

“The captain summoned me to his ward room earlier and told me that I was to be assigned to you. When I was speaking to the other midshipmen below decks, none of them has such an assignment.”

Kris hadn’t known that the captain had made the arrangement official rather than simply suggesting earlier that Kris take the boy under his wing and teach him how not to get himself shot, killed or otherwise embarrassed. That he had made mention of it to the other midshipmen would be problematic but Kris would deal with that should it become an issue.

“With this being your first time at sea, and with your time as an ensign having been spent shuffling papers at the Admiralty, the captain is worried that you are ill-equipped with the tools necessary to make a good accounting of yourself,” Kris sighed. How did one phrase it delicately without tearing the boy’s ego to shreds? “You had a senior clerk, I’m guessing, when you worked in the Admiralty, who showed you the ropes, so to speak? Well, this is similar.” The boy wasn’t convinced; Kris could see it in his eyes. “You see, the captain believes that the biggest danger to the Navy is not rogue pirates, but rather ignorance and he will not see it aboard his ship. And if, by assigning a senior officer, he can save a young man from making too many errors of judgement, then he deems that a good use of the senior officer’s time. Don’t worry overly about it, Archie, I promise not to have you awake in the wee hours studying every tome and treatise on sailing ever written.”

The smile returned to Archie’s face and threatened to cut it in two. Kris sighed. It looked as if this was to be the first lesson, and no doubt it would be hard learned.

“Archie,” he paused, wondering how blunt to be with the younger man, “what I tell you now is for your own good and may be harshly received, but please remember that I mean it in the spirit of friendship and not maliciously.”

Archie frowned, clearly puzzled over the topic Kris was trying to address.

Kris pushed on, “You cannot let your emotions play so easily across your face. The men will play you for a fool and if they do that, you will never have their respect.”

Hurt flashed across Archie’s face and something else as he tried to hide it. It wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination but it was a fraction better.

“Good man, Archie,” Kris patted him on the shoulder, “I know that it’s hard to do, I had to do it myself when I was much younger and remember the pains that it took. Do you understand why you must school your features?”

Archie nodded, but Kris could tell that he was still stuck on his words.

“It’s not just about being made to look a fool but also for command. When you look at the captain, and I’d advise that you not let him catch you looking, you will see that no expression crosses his face less he wishes to express it,” Kris paused, “Take, for example, times of hardship or in the midst of a fight, the captain must stand firm and be an example for the men, as must the officers. The men look to them to know the odds, whether we will win or lose, and if they see any doubt there, we may as well have plugged the cannon and used them for mere decoration for in that instant we have lost. Do you start to understand now?”

“I think so,” Archie replied after a moment.

“My second piece of advice for the night is this. Never lie to the crew. Never look them in the eye and tell them one thing when you know the truth to be something different unless you absolutely must. It damages the trust and it’s on that trust that an officer lives or dies,” Kris explained, “Don’t misunderstand, Archie, there will be situations where you are required to hide the truth but try your hardest to never brazenly lie to them. They will find out in the fullness of time and lies ferment discord. Evade, dodge and distract, but never lie.”

Archie nodded and silence fell between them as they both looked out to sea. It was a calm night, with twilight starting to fade into true night and the horizons were clear as far as eye could see.

“May I ask a question of you, sir?”

“Of course.”

“Did you always wish to be at sea, sir?”

Kris stopped for a moment, thinking over the question before answering, “In a way, yes. I knew that I would join the Navy from a very young age. It’s tradition in my family. So yes, I always knew that I would end up at sea.”

“That wasn’t quite what I asked, sir,” Archie looked up at him and Kris smiled at the first hint of backbone shining through.

He sighed, “I suppose not. But when it’s something that you know as soon as you can walk, it’s very hard to picture yourself doing anything else. I’ve been in and about ships my whole life. I don’t believe I know how to do anything else. What about you? Was there another profession you wished to follow?”

Archie bit back a smile, “Yes, yes there was. Music is my weakness, sir, singing especially. I was a chorister from when I was a boy and nothing gives me more pleasure. I had hoped to follow my heart and tour the music halls of Europe.”

“Music halls, eh?” Kris nudged him, smirking a little.

Archie’s cheeks flushed red as he ducked his head, “Proper music halls, with pianos and orchestras. Nothing improper. Good Lord no, sir.”

“Somehow, I didn’t think so,” Kris laughed, “My advice, Archie, is to make sure that the men don’t find out or else you will be dragged into every round, singsong and shanty that they have mind to sing. Believe me I know from bitter experience.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Archie said, his voice wistful, “There aren’t many chances to sing in the Navy.”

“No, but there are a few,” Kris confided, “One of my mother’s parting gifts to me when I left on my first vessel was a fiddle. She’s with me now, packed tight to save her from the salt. Easier to carry around than a piano, you must admit. The captain has been known to host officer’s evenings and is partial to some music during the evening’s entertainment.”

“Really?” Archie did not look convinced.

“Really,” Kris nodded, “The captain’s been known to give a startling rendition of Spanish Ladies when he’s downed a glass or two of port. If you are treated to it, be polite and for Heaven’s sake don’t correct him on the lyrics. There are easier ways to die.”

Kris remembered the last person who had made that mistake, a young lieutenant, a brief transfer aboard, and wondered idly whether he had ever regained use of his arm. Silence fell between the men again and Kris looked out over the waves. His eyes caught on a vague movement, a spot of light against the rising stars and he pulled out his telescope. He focused it and sure enough there was a sail. Too far away to see much more than that, but something of note all the same.

“Archie, run down to the captain and beg his indulgence. Let him know that there’s a ship on the horizon, not close enough to see their colours yet and too early to determine whether it will be a worry,” Kris ordered.

Archie was off and running almost before Kris was finished his instructions. Looking up to the man sitting in the crow’s nest, Kris cupped a hand around his mouth and called up a warning.

“Ship to port, on the horizon line.”

The man jumped and Kris cursed under his breath. The man on watch was new to the _Hawk_ and Kris couldn’t yet tell for sure and certain whether it was incompetence or sleep that had kept him from seeing what was out there but if it happened again then, damn his eyes, Kris would have his hide. In these waters, they could ill afford surprise.

The man looked out to sea and called down an acknowledgement and Kris moved back to the helm in case action became necessary. It would be a while before they would know for certain what allegiances the ship had, if any. There were English, French and Dutch on these waters as well as pirates and even if the distant sail belonged to an ally, trouble had a way of finding a home with unsuspecting sailors.

It was a generous five minutes before Archie returned to the mizzen deck, the captain on his heels. Kris had to hold back a smile as he watched Archie. The younger man’s back was in danger of snapping under the strain. He was standing ramrod straight at full and proper attention and appeared to be stuck that way. Kris beckoned him over, and when the captain wasn’t looking, poked him at the small of his back. The boy jumped a good six inches straight up and turned to glare at Kris, forgetting himself for a moment. Kris flashed him a small grin before turning to look at the captain who was just lowering the looking glass from his eye.

“No sign of loyalties yet, Captain,” Kris reported, “But I have the watch keeping eyes on it.”

“Good man,” Forester nodded, “And your feeling on this, Mister Allen?”

Kris took a deep breath and considered his options, “I’m aware of only a few British ships at sea in these latitudes. The _Mackenzie_ is north of here at last report. The _Indestructible_ is currently at rest in port in Jamaica but Captain Scott’s ship should be somewhere here about. The rest are either to port or sailing from Boston and while we cannot rule them out entirely, it would be unusual to see them on that course.”

Kris looked to the captain and saw him nodding along, his dark eyes watching him intently. He could feel the weight of Archie’s gaze on him also but it was more important to him to ensure that he garnered no disappointment from Captain Forester.

“At present we have a treaty with Holland and the Dutch, so if the ship is flying Dutch colours we may be safe. But they have faster lines of communication thanks to the Dutch East Indian Company, the VIO, and if alliances have shifted, we may not know it yet. The French Admiralty is still baying for blood after the last thrashing that they took but we outweigh and outgun any ship the French have in this part of the Atlantic by the last reckoning but that is not to include any privateer engaged by them. The bounty for British vessels has been raised according to talk in the harbour so there could well be danger if we run abreast of any of their ilk,” Kris tapped his chin with a finger, thoughtfully, “And there is always the chance that it is some pirate come to test their mettle against a ship of the line, Captain. That is why we are out here, after all, which means a sloop most likely which would be challenged to take us on in a fair fight. But one thing that we can count on is that they most definitely will not attempt a fair fight.”

The captain watched Kris for a long moment before speaking, “An accurate assessment, Mister Allen. But where would you put your money?”

Kris’ lip quirked up, “If gambling were permitted on board, do you mean, sir?”

Chuckling, Forester inclined his head, “Yes, Mister Allen. Should I allow such a flagrant breach of protocol, where would your bet be?”

“Honestly, sir, I would say privateer or pirate. But that is just a guess,” Kris hastily added.

“That is where my money would be, also,” Forester confirmed. “But a guess, no matter how educated, is still just a guess. Keep a watch on the vessel and inform me as soon as you can make out the colours. I shall be in my ward room.”

“Yes, sir,” Kris acknowledged, saluting the Captain before he turned and left again to disappear below decks.

Stepping to the helmsman, Kris ordered him to keep a straight and steady course. The man nodded and Kris saw his grip tighten on the wheel. There was tension in the air. He made his way to the side railings and took another look at the closing vessel. It was still too far away to make out the smudge of colour that was its flag.

“Archie,” Kris spoke softly, calling the boy to his side.

He stepped lively and was by Kris’ side in an instant.

“Take this looking glass,” Kris held out the brass telescope, “And watch from the bow. I have instructions to give the men and I shall need an accounting as soon as we have one. It should not be long, given the winds, before we know who we are facing. There are men watching from the ‘nest but two sets of eyes may give us an advantage.”

“Aye, sir.”

Scampering off, Kris watched him go. Archie was hardly the most graceful of fellows. He barely missed the rigging ropes three times in his haste. Calling one of the men over, he sent him below decks to the mess where the men were gathered. It was only a moment before he was back with Petty Officer Cook beside him. Kris thanked him and sent him back about his duty. The man nodded and disappeared back to his station leaving Kris alone with the Petty Officer.

“Mister Cook,” Kris began, “there is a situation arising that will require our undivided attentions. At present, off the bow, there is a ship of unidentified loyalties. I do not believe it to be numbered among our allies and as such, I believe that there will be trouble upon us before very long. The captain doesn’t disagree with this opinion at present. However, if this is the case, then the defence of the ship must be my utmost priority, waylaying all other tasks and assignments that I have been given,” Kris cast his eyes towards the bow and the midshipman standing there. “If the worst should happen, and we find ourselves engaged…”

Cook pulled the cap from his head and scratched at his hair before replacing it, “I’m sure I can find my way to his side, sir, keep an eye on him.”

“Good man,” Kris nodded, “Just between us, if you please.”

“Aye, sir,” Cook bobbed his head.

Kris dismissed him and watched as he moved down the ship to take a seat on one of the barrels up near the bow, making a show of taking off his shoe and examining the sole. Archie was none the wiser.

Cupping his hand around his mouth again, he called up to the crow’s nest, “Any sign yet?”

“No, Mister Allen,” the man shouted down, “Can’t rightly see what colours she’s wearing or if she’s wearing any, but she’s running towards us. May not see anything until she tacks again.”

Kris sighed. He hated this endless waiting, this hook and bait game that needed to be played before you found out whether your opponent was friend or foe. If the other ship was running for them, there should be pinion flags flying in various colours, but with night now rising, the visibility would be cut down to just what they could see in the ships own light and more often than not, that ended up being nothing more than white sails. If they raised flags now, there was a chance that they would go unseen. Kris stalked back to the mizzen deck and to the helm.

“How fares the wind?” Kris asked the helmsman.

“We’ve got full wind in our sails, Mister Allen,” he answered, and Kris nodded, “Can’t go much faster than this, beg pardon, sir. But wind’s fixing to change soon. Shifting to the east by my reckoning.”

Kris couldn’t feel the change coming, not in atmosphere or in pressure, but he’d learned never to doubt the instincts of a helmsman. No matter who they were or where they hailed from, there was something almost preternatural about their weather senses. His father swore that any good helmsman worth his salt could tell you what the weather would be like a week from now and precisely how many drops of rain would hit the mainsail.

Kris didn’t pace, but it took every ounce of his will to keep his feet from moving. There was nervousness in the air on deck and Kris was caught in it as much as any other man. He needed to move, needed answers but none were coming. Walking down to the bow, he nodded to Archie.

“Any sign of colours yet?”

“No, sir,” Archie replied and offered Kris the looking glass.

Kris raised it to his eye and adjusted it. It took but a moment to fix on the white sails drifting ever closer. Their relative positions had shifted enough that he could now make out much more detail. The ship was large, a Man-of-War, French by design though that meant little out here. Large, by the standards of the local ships, but no rival to their own vessel and Kris judged them to have a lesser compliment of guns on board. By the odds, they had only ten, maybe twelve guns each side to give a total of twenty or twenty-two. Three masts, with full rigging and no colours flying that he could see. And that worried him. Ships going about legitimate business always showed their colours proudly. In certain quarters and at certain times, to not fly your colours could mean an assumption of espionage or even treason. That the strange ship were not showing even a hint of their colours narrowed the options down in Kris’ estimation. They were facing either privateers or pirates and either spelt out trouble.

“Archie, you remember your signals, don’t you?” Kris spoke softly.

The midshipman nodded and ducked back to the stern of the ship to grab the signalling lamp. He raced forward quick as he could, the large brass lamp clutched tightly to him. Archie flipped open the cover and blew the candle back to life. Kris could see the flame flicker, the candlelight reflecting against the shiny metal innards.

“Let’s send them a message, shall we?” Kris asked, “We’ll start simply by signalling ourselves as British and see how they respond. Let’s see if we can’t figure out who they are even without their colours.”

Kris watched the message being sent carefully, watching over his charge in case of mistakes or miscommunication. Wars had been started over less and given the tensions in these waters, they could ill afford a political incident. Once the message was completed, Kris raised his looking glass and trained it back on the other ship. Everything was quiet on deck with no sign of movement.

“Send it again please,” Kris ordered, “Let us be sure they’ve seen us before we do anything rash.”

Kris kept watch on the other ship, scanning back and forth, silently praying that the other ship’s captain ordered someone to signal back. But not even a candle flame lit the deck that he could see. He sighed heavily.

“Once more, Mister Allen?” Archie asked, readying himself to start the message again, but Kris shook his head.

“No, Archie. Not right now. Maybe when we pull a little closer, we’ll try again,” Kris patted the boy on the shoulder and smiled, “Don’t trouble yourself. You know what these ships are like. Probably just drifted off to sleep on watch.”

Archie didn’t look convinced and Kris couldn’t fault him. Failure to return signal was a serious breach of naval etiquette and an insult to boot, but still it was not enough to warrant further action. Non naval ships worked to different standards and where falling asleep on watch would have you beaten or hung on a British naval vessel, it was a matter of course on smaller ships. They were well away from the trade routes here and a ship could go days without meeting friend or foe so there was little to keep watch for except buccaneers and pirate rogues and even they would give a ship a wide berth if they thought that they were carrying nothing of importance.

Kris handed the telescope back to Archie and true to form, it was at the lad’s eye in seconds. Kris stayed looking out over the horizon, keeping a weather eye on the other ship. There was something sitting uneasy in his stomach, something off about the whole encounter that he couldn’t quite place but at the moment, it was just out of reach of his rational mind.

“Mister Allen, Mister Allen,” Archie’s cries pulled him from his thoughts.

“What is it, Archie?”

“Sir, you’d best look for yourself.”

Kris took the looking glass back and adjusted it, pulling the sails into focus.

“What…?” Kris started, but the words died a death as he saw what had drawn the younger man’s attentions, “Damn and blast. They can’t mean to…”

One by one, along the side of the vessel, the gun ports were being pushed open as the cannon were run out, an aggressive action with no mistake. They meant to try their luck it seemed and blast them for it. Surely their captain knew that they were outgunned and outclassed. What madness was this? _The Hawk_ would make driftwood of their smaller ship.

“Archie,” Kris spoke calmly, “Would you be so kind as to report to the captain?”

“Of course, Mister Allen.”

“If you would inform him that the ship is a Man-of-War and appears to be wilfully hiding their allegiances and approaching with gun ports open. Tell him also that we received no answer to our signals. Hurry now.”

Archie looked at the silhouette of the ship on the water and backed away, no doubt understanding the message that Kris was sending.

“Mister Cook, if you please?” Kris called the Petty Officer from his place on deck. “Call the men to stations.”

Bobbing his head, he ran to the stairs and ducked inside. Kris took one final look at the ship before making his way to the stern. With a clatter, the men poured onto the deck, the Chiefs shouting orders.

Kris’ voice cut through the chatter, “To stations, quick as you can. Wake any crew asleep. Gun crews and monkeys report to their officers and make ready.”

Kris called one of the Petty Officers over, “Rouse the officers if you would and inform them that their presence is requested on the mizzen deck, Mister Smith.”

“Aye, sir.”

Kris looked around and caught sight of the captain stepping onto the deck. Kris was beside him in moments, “I’ve counted ten gun ports, captain, but they may have some demi-cannon hidden on deck. No colours flying by my eye. I’ve called the men to stations and sent a man to rouse the officers.”

“Gone dark, sir,” the man in the crow’s nest shouted, “Lanterns are out.”

The captain cursed.

“Damnit. They’ve a watch on us. Cover the lamps, men. Let’s not give them a target to shoot at.”

The lamps were covered in seconds, dropping them into darkness. Better to work in the dim light of the stars than to have the ship sit waiting, a great target ripe for the plucking.

“Mister Allen, pass the order to the men. Not so much as a word is to be uttered or I will have them stripped and flogged raw.”

Kris nodded and repeated the order to the Chiefs for them to pass on to the men themselves, no doubt colouring the Captain’s words with some additional threats of their own for good measure. The other officers arrived shortly after the order was given. Kris waited for the First Lieutenant to step up to the Captain’s left and excused himself to the Captain.

“Sir, by your leave, I should see to my men.”

The Captain nodded and Kris stepped back, collecting Archie on his way and took his station with his gun crew.

It was hard work, silently loading the cannon and waiting on tenderhooks for wakesign or glimpse of their opponent. The moon was not on their side that night, hiding its light behind a patchwork of clouds. The captain’s whispered order had them pull open the gun ports and secure them in readiness. The quartermaster walked the deck with his aides, handing out pistols by the brace and swords. Kris took two pistols and loaded them, every movement painfully slow lest he shatter the silence, as he waited for the other ship to give away its position.

Seconds stretched to minutes stretched to veritable hours or so it felt until there was a distinct lapping of water against timber to their starboard side. Kris passed word to Archie who passed it on to Cook and so on until it reached the captain’s ear. Orders came back by an odd game of whispers and Kris prayed that the order to fire had indeed been what the captain had said. Walking the line, Kris tapped each gun chief on the shoulder and gave them a nod. The cannons were quietly elevated and range guessed at. Acknowledgements of readiness were given through whispers as Kris passed each man. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and called the order.

“Fire!”

The word was shouted as loud as he was able and in the still night air, it rocked the silence. Embers were put to fuses and the cannons’ reports tore through the night air. Flashes of light from the ignited gunpowder flared bright against the darkness and blinded those looking at them.

The first shot splashed to the water, failing to hit a target and Kris’ heart fell, only to soar a mere second later at the sound of metal striking wood. Shouts and cries carried over the cannonade and the below deck crews picked up the attack. Quiet was behind them now and Kris shouted orders to his crews to reload and fire at will. They had the jump on their unknown opponents and would make whatever advantage of it that they could, get as many cannon fired.

Small fires gave them range and the accuracy increased with every second. The powder monkeys ran to and fro delivering their satchels to the men as needed. The monkeys from the port side crew helped out their brothers in arms, their assigned crews having no need of them at the present moment.

Flashes of light flared bright in sequence along the side of the man-of-war and Kris barely had time to shout a warning before the first cannonball sailed overhead. Chaos erupted and they were engaged. The helmsman brought them closer, spinning the wheel, and the lanterns were uncovered. Men looked back at them across the divide, stunned to see the amassed crew of _The Hawk_ waiting hungrily to board the other vessel. They had a slim chance of another broadside but then she’d be beyond them.

“Again men, fast as you can, before we lose her.”

The men obliged, working hard and fast to reload and fire one last volley.

“Losing range, Captain,” Kris shouted, looking to the Captain.

The Captain’s gaze was on the other ship, “She’s turning. Mister Allen, assemble a boarding party and prepare to engage as she comes level.”

Kris’ heart raced as he heard the Captain’s order.

“Mister Harte, provide us some cover, if you would?” Kris called to his fellow lieutenant, “Gun crew, stand to and draw pistols. Prepare to run out the gangways.”

The men pulled long planks from their resting place behind them and stood ready to secure them. Kris’ hand found his sword and pulled his pistol from his belt, checking the load.

“Mister Allen,” the Captain called, “On your order.”

Kris smiled, “Aye, sir.” He turned to look at his men, “Secure the gangways.”

The planks were slammed down into place and men stepped forward to hold them fast as Kris led his men forward.

Kris was the first to step foot on the other ship, his men no more than a step behind him.

“FOR _THE HAWK_ AND QUEEN ANNE!”

Kris shouted to rouse the men and was rewarded by a cheer. French curses greeted him as he attacked. A pistol in his left hand and a sword in his right, Kris took aim and dropped what he could only assume by his dress was an officer. And then the crew were upon him. He fought, ducking and parrying blows from one, two, three men in turn.

It was all he could do to keep himself out from under the blades of the other men. They were unskilled, but that didn’t make it any easier. If anything, the brutal strokes were worse than anything a trained swordsman could have thrown at him because they had their entire bodyweight behind each and every attack. But Kris was small and that was his saving grace. He dodged and slashed out at the men whenever opportunity presented itself. Fine lines of red traced out his strikes.

A flash of pain sent the nerves of his hand jangling as one of the men landed a lucky blow but he did not let that distract him from his duty. Instead, he buckled down, using his spent pistol to catch the next slash from the man. Parry, riposte, jab and reverse. Kris’ blade did not stop dancing its deadly jig as he disarmed and then disarmed one opponent. Wetness loosened his grip and Kris lost precious seconds trying to force his fingers to tighten. The muscles would not listen to him for a heart-stopping moment but then he was back in the fight. Biting back a scream, Kris pressed on again and again until his opponents finally were put down. He stepped over their bodies to look around, sword still at the ready.

He was surprised to see Archie standing beside him, with Cook an ever present shadow behind the young midshipman. Beyond them were his gun crew, or the guts of it. Bodies lay on the ground around them, the dead and the dying.

The ship’s crew were in retreat, begging for mercy as they cowered against the railing, as far from _The Hawk_ as they could get without diving into the cold dark waters of the deep and Kris’ men were closing in around them, ready to strike the killing blows. Kris took a second to weight the situation, and called for his men to cease fighting.

“Hawk, hold fast.”

His men stuttered to a stop, holding up their swords and pausing carnage as their opponents cried for parole. They were ready, ever watchful for any threat, Kris knew that well. They’d had times before when they’d been called to stand fast only to find it a rouse by their opponents but Kris felt that it would not be the case this time. Their swords lay on the deck to be gathered up by whosoever Kris ordered.

Archie still stood at his side and Kris clapped the younger man on the back, almost knocking him over, “Damned good job, Archie.”

The boy practically bounced in excitement, like an urchin who’d found a penny on the streets, “I got two, Mister Allen, two by my very self, didn’t I, Mister Cook?”

Cook nodded and smiled proudly over at to the Midshipman, “Aye, sir. And good solid engagements they were. Did the ship proud, sir.”

“Good man,” Kris smiled.

“Jenkins, Smith, gather up the weapons and secure them, if you will,” Kris ordered before turning to face their surrendered foes.

The contingent of men that stood without sword or pistol at the opposite side of the ship was sizeable, huddled together and held at sword point by Kris’ boarding party. One man amongst them stepped forward as Kris approached. He was a shade taller than Kris and easily twice his width, a corpulent man and dressed in sateen finery but none of the markings of rank that Kris would associate with a French officer. The man was a privateer by Kris’ reckoning. He alone held his sword but not in the same way that a fighter would but rather as one prepared to offer parole.

Kris inclined his head and spoke to the man, “Sir, you are the Captain of this vessel?”

Kris could speak French perfectly, but he chose not to, a reminder to the men that they had been bested, and one that would have been returned had their situations been reversed.

“You are in charge here? You will take my sword?” the man asked in a heavy French accent, offering the blade to Kris.

Kris shook his head, “No, sir. But if I may have your name, my midshipman will carry it to our Captain?”

“Je suis Capitaine Françoise Dubois of _La Rochelle_ ,” the man answered.

Kris inclined his head in greeting, “I am Lieutenant Kristopher Allen of _The Hawk_.”

He turned to Archie, “Mister Archuleta, please inform Captain Forrester that Captain Dubois wishes to give his parole.”

Archie nodded and made his way back to _The Hawk_.

“Mister Cook, if you could take a man and make an accounting of the wounded and dead.”

The man nodded and set to work. Each body would be catalogued and checked and a mark recorded in Cooks small but battered notebook.

Kris and Captain Dubois waited together for Captain Forester. Kris’ eyes flicked to _The Hawk_ , his eyes searching out Captain Forester and an end to the awkwardness. A plank of sturdy wood was being extended and the Captain helped up to walk across. Kris made his way to his side with all due haste once he had stepped down to the defeated ship. The captain took a moment to look around before turning to Kris.

“A magnificent victory, Mister Allen,” Captain Forester granted Kris a rare smile before addressing the issue at hand. “Mister Archuleta tells me that the Captain is ready to offer his surrender. Is he insisting on conditions?”

“No, Captain.”

“Well, then, let’s not keep the man waiting.”

Kris led the Captain over to where _La Rochelle_ ’s Captain stood and made the introductions.

“Capitaine,” the man addressed Captain Forester, pronouncing each word with exaggerated care, “I would ask that you accept my sword. _La Rochelle_ is yours. I surrender her to you but ask that you spare what few of my men are left.”

Captain Forester looked the man up and down and finally accepted the offering, swearing on his oath that the men would be spared. Just like that, the fight was truly over and the men cheered, throwing caps and tricorns into the air. There would surely be a reckoning later, when the prisoners were secured, but for now the only thing that mattered was that _The Hawk_ and her men had won a sterling victory and would soon have a bounty of their own to share out.


	3. Pitch and Yaw

  


  
_19th May 1710  
Holding Position in the Caribbean_   


 

Kris had to admit to a certain amount of light-headedness, but he was firmly of the opinion that he did not need to report to the surgeon. However, the Captain’s orders had been firm and it had been backed by the growing stain on his previously white shirt. He had been caught a solid blow from the French blade and now, an hour later, it was still bleeding, despite having been bandaged.

He moved below deck towards the surgeon’s room situated down the corridor from his own quarters. Kris had to use the wall to stay upright for the last dozen or so steps. He patted his arm and winced at the sensations that ran down to the tips of his fingers – pain and then a dangerous numbness that worried him. He turned the corner and came across Hell incarnate. Men lay stretched out on every available surface, bleeding and dying as the surgeon and what men he had collared moved from person to person assessing and treating where they could. Blood covered the floor until cabin boys came with buckets of salt water to wash down the timbers. Samuel was one of the poor lads tasked with this job and Kris wished that the boy’d had sense to stay busy above deck when the summons went out.

The boys’, whom Kris knew either from their previous voyages or from his storytelling hour on the shore prior to setting sail, looked pale and horrified at the visions around and well they should, he supposed. It was fine to fight a glorious fight and to be victorious, but it came at a cost, and while men surveyed the damage to both _The Hawk_ and _La Rochelle_ , the human tally would be set forth by Mister Hastings, the ship’s surgeon. But those initial figures would not be an end to it, for some of the tally would not be evidenced until two or three days hence. Worse than a wound inflicted by gun or by blade, there was a silent killer that stalked the decks following any fight and turned good flesh bad and carried men off by means of purification and that was something as simple and as complex as the fever.

“Ah, Mister Allen, come in, come in,” Mister Hastings looked over his shoulder and waved him in, spots of blood flying from his hand, “You look like Hell. Damn Frogs got ya did they?”

“Privateers,” Kris corrected, “But yes, a lucky strike.”

“Frogs, privateers, makes no difference. Bastards the lot of ‘em. Not a good ‘un this side of the Atlantic or that,” the surgeon spat, “Grab a seat where you can and I’ll get to you as soon as I finish hacking this leg off…”

Hastings was balding, with just a halo of his own hair hanging on, and he was quite vain about it, choosing to cover it with a battered and badly stained wig, the like of which would have one evicted from any level of society higher than the gutter should one attempt to wear it in public. He was a wiry figure of a man, with an angry red face and hands that shook when there was not a tankard in them. A drunkard, his drink of choice was finest scotch whiskey aged twenty one years in an oak cask, but when the need was on him, any measure would do and indeed, in the past, even liniment had fitted his requirements. Today’s tipple appeared to be rum by the smell and colour. The surgeon knocked it back in one gulp before holding the tankard out to be refilled.

Odd though it might seem, Kris preferred that he have a drink before performing surgery as it stilled the man’s nerve and his hands. However, if he was given free reign, the man would lose his senses while men still lay bleeding on the table. It was a fine line the man walked and had there been any other choice, Kris felt sure that Captain Forester would have taken it. But Carolina was not overburdened with medical professionals who wished to step from their safe practices and sail for adventure and glory.

Sat to the side, on the cleanest spot he could find, Kris waited but men cried out around him and Kris could not, would not keep his seat. He forced himself to his feet and over to the men. The room spun a little but steadied again. There was a cup of rum beside one of the beds. Lifting it, Kris spoke softly to the man as he held the cup to the man’s lips, tipping it back a little.

“Shush now, Smithy, what’ll your wife say when I tell her that I caught you crying like an infant at a mere scuff of your knee?” Kris asked, purposely ignoring the fact that more than half the man’s leg lay on the floor and that his bandages were soaked through.

The man drank deeply and let his head fall back, “Ah now, Mister Allen, sir, there’s no call to be telling the missus something like that. ‘ave an ‘eart. She’ll ‘ave my ‘ide, sir.”

“We’ll see, Smithy, but don’t think I don’t know that the only reason you’re in here is for the extra measure of rum,” Kris smiled.

“Mister Allen, if you’d step this way?” Hastings called as he wiped off his hands. “Let’s get a look at that arm before it drops off.”

“I can wait, if you need to…” he gestured at Smithy.

“Ten minutes isn’t going to make that much difference to that man,” Hastings shrugged, “It’ll be God’s own will if he survives the night.”

Kris was shocked at the man’s candour and the blatant disrespect that the surgeon showed to his patient and it was obvious that Smithy was no less shocked than he. But the man weathered it well, his face setting with resignation of his fate. But Kris could not stay silent and let the lack of humanity, the lack of empathy stand unchallenged.

“Mister Hastings, I insist that you…”

Smithy cut in, his voice soft, “Beggin’ your pardon, Mister Allen, sir, I wouldn’t feel right goin’ ‘fore an officer like you. Looks right painful there, sir. Knew a man once, waited to get his arm looked at. Surgeon had to chop it right off and well, sir, you being an officer, we can’t have that. Only Captain’s allowed go ‘round one armed, sir.”

“Well,” Kris said reluctantly, “Who am I to ignore such a generous offer?”

Kris felt guilt settle in his stomach as Hastings led him to a seat and stripped him of his coat and shirt. The doctor clucked as he saw the wound, poking it and pulling it apart to gauge how deep the blade had cut. Blood, fresh and red, flowed from the cut and ran down Kris’ arm, cutting rivulets in the dried blood. Kris winced and bit back a curse as the doctor poured rum onto the opened flesh.

Kris clenched his hand into a fist and wished that it was just the doctor and him in the room instead of the maelstrom of activity that was now centred on the doctor’s rooms. Samuel was watching him, his jaw dropped open as Hastings tried to thread a viciously sharp curved needle. He missed the eye of the needle with the thread once, twice, thrice, cursing the thread with every breath before handing it to Samuel and setting him the chore. The boy succeeded first try and the needle was passed back to Hastings. Kris looked away as the needle pierced his skin. It wasn’t that he did not have the stomach for it rather that to look at it made the pain all the more present. He could feel the pressure of the needle and then the tug as the thread pulled tight. The stitches were not neat but serviceable, leaving the wound to ooze.

Kris gently pulled on his shirt, easing it up his injured arm. It hurt like damnation and Kris closed his eyes to ward against the pain. He would love to throw the shirt over the railings and watch it disappear to the horizon but his chest was not packed to the brim with spare shirts. Instead, he would need to darn the damage and scrub it clean at his first opportunity. He took a deep breath and forced himself to open his eyes. He would not show himself up in front of Hastings.

The room was quieter than he expected when he pushed himself to his feet. The attendants had made themselves scarce, taking some of the walking wounded with them. Now, the surgeon was focusing his significant attention on Smithy. The man was in bad shape, his eyes dropping closed for longer and longer each time.

“Mister Allen, would you be so kind as to hold down this man’s shoulders,” Kris nodded and moved to position. Truly he did not know how much use he would be or how much punishment his arm could take, but he owed it to Smithy to offer support in whatever manner he could. “Boy,” Hastings called Samuel to him, “Hold down what’s left of his leg. Hold it tight, now.”

Kris frowned. Surely Hastings was not asking the slip of a boy to wrestle Smithy while the surgeon cut into him. One concerted struggle would send the boy flying. Never mind that such a sight would unsettle the boy and make his first nights on board unbearable. Blood by the pale was bad enough but to see a saw cut into flesh was a measure of gruesome beyond what the boy had seen before. Indeed, the first time that Kris had seen an amputation, he had not slept a night through for weeks, waking with every remembered thought and horrific nightmare. He would not willingly inflict that fate on a charge under his care.

“Mister Hastings,” Kris tried to get his attention, but the man was not listening, already talking to himself and searching for the correct implements. Kris reached out and caught the man’s arm before his saw could touch flesh and turned the man to face him, “Surgeon, you cannot ask this boy to perform such a task. Look at him! He has neither the strength nor the stomach to fulfil the duty. Call on one of your other attendants.”

“Attendants, is it?” the man squinted at Kris and Kris held his gaze steady and sure and with every ounce of will that he had in his body, “What few men the captain granted me are engaged with other duties. The boy will do well enough.”

Kris cast an eye to Samuel and found him to be stuck fast to the floor, eyes wider than Kris’ mother’s finest dinner plates. That was all the justification that Kris needed, “Samuel, run up to the deck and find Mister Cook. Ask him to attend me immediately,” Kris ordered. Samuel stood there, still pale as the sails. Kris shook him by the shoulder and broke through the catatonics, “Did you hear me, Samuel?” he asked and the boy nodded, “Well, then, hurry.”

The doctor watched the child go and sneered in his wake. The same sneer greeted Kris as the man turned. “A soft heart makes for naught but weak men, Mister Allen, you mark my words. You do that rat no favours being easy on him. He’ll be back here one way or another, on my table or beside it and you won’t be there to coddle him. Best I make a man out of him, than you make the lad a woman. Or mayhap that’s your plan, is it, Lieutenant? To make a favour of him for the officers below decks? Soft hands and white cheeks. All the same in the dark isn’t it, Mister Allen?”

“Hold your tongue, surgeon, or I will hold it for you!” Kris drew himself to his full height, looking the man in the eye, “Say another word and I will see to it that you are held in the brig until such time as your skills are needed again.”

“On what authority would you have that done, Lieutenant?” Hastings crowded him, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Kris found his stomach turning at the stench of sour alcohol and rot on the man’s breath but he stood his ground, “Confound it, man, I will take it to the Captain himself. Were you a gentleman, I would ask for satisfaction for your remarks.”

“And were I a gentleman, I would see you split in two and tossed in the sea,” the surgeon spat, “You may be a man by the Navy’s reckoning but you are nought but a pup by mine, boy. Watch your words, or I might find my hands damnedably unsteady when it comes to fixing your injuries next time.”

Kris was about to retort but a scuffing noise caught his attention and Kris turned to see Cook standing outside the door, examining the floor as if it were the singularly most important item in the universe.

Kris took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “We will continue our discussion later, Surgeon!” Turning to Cook, he beckoned the man in, “Thank you for coming, Mister Cook, we have need of your help.”

The man looked almost embarrassed, refusing to meet his eyes or the eyes of the doctor and Kris could only assume that he had heard a significant portion of the conversation.

“Mister Hastings informs me that it has become necessary to perform surgery on Smithy here and requires our aid to ensure that he does not struggle overly,” Kris informed Cook.

Cook, for his part, simply nodded and moved closer. Kris could see the grimace on his face as he took in the damage but by the time he was within Smithy’s eyeline, he had schooled his features into that of almost reassurance. Kris had seen him do it before with the little’uns after they failed in their tasks; reassuring them while teaching them how best to do the work next time.

Kris went to stand at Smithy’s shoulder. His eyes were closed but there was still life to him. His skin was covered in sweat and the muscles to the side of his jaw were twitching as he clenched his teeth against the pain. Kris reached for the rum again and held the bottle to his lips. Smithy’s eyes opened after the first drop and he drank eagerly.

“Hold him firm now,” the surgeon instructed, “It’ll only go worse for him if he moves. And pass that bottle up here.”

Kris let Smithy finish first before holding it out to Hastings. There was about a quarter left in the bottle and half of that disappeared in one long swallow.

“Mister Allen,” Smithy’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Smithy?”

“If’n’ I don’t… If’n’ I don’t, well, sir. If… Could you make sure that Mary is taken care of? I got a couple’a months pay owin’, sir and if you could see that…” The man’s voice cut off sharply as the saw touched his leg and the surgeon started the operation.

Kris pressed down on his shoulders, “None of that, Smithy, once the surgeon gets done with you, you’ll be up and around in no time. You’ll be able to see Mary and give her your pay yourself.”

The man grimaced up at Kris and shook his head. The surgeon paused as he hit bone and took another drink of rum.

“The good Lord may not ‘ave blessed me with much in the way of brains, Mister Allen, but what little ‘e gave me, well, they work fine as ever. Say you’ll see to it, Sir. Please, sir, your word?”

Kris could not deny the man, “Of course, Smithy, of course. I’ll deliver it to her myself. My word on that. I’ll make sure of it.”

The surgeon started hacking at the bone and Kris’ words were cut off by a blood curdling scream from Smithy. Kris did his best to try to stay the very model of an officer, and he succeeded but it took all Kris’ strength to do so. The wet slide of the saw, the grating of the blade on bone and the keening cries of the seaman all melded together into a nightmare set of sounds such as no man should have to hear. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen such a sight, and neither would it be the last, but never could a man get used to those hellish sounds.

Though the man’s leg was tourniqueted, blood still leaked out. The surgeon cursed with every stroke of the saw, as if compelling the blade into pushing just that extra measure deeper. There was a snap, not unlike that of a branch breaking underfoot and the bone was sundered. Another second and the last remaining strands of flesh were severed. Smithy had lapsed into unconsciousness and thankfully so. Kris released the man’s shoulders and patted them gently, a pointless reassurance that did more to make Kris feel better than Smithy.

Kris’ arm ached but he pushed on for they were not done yet. Cook was sent for what was, in bad taste, referred to as the medicinal gun powder. Finer in grade than the powder they used for the cannon, it was used to cauterise wounds either too large to stitch or too deep. Kris had not had it used on him but the men who had, swore by it. Hastings checked the stump and stitched where he could before washing his hands and drying them thoroughly. He sprinkled the powder on the wound and then lit a taper from the candle that lit the room. Touching one to the other, he sealed the wound. Smithy writhed on the table, but did not wake. He groaned involuntarily, long and loud and Kris wished that he were anywhere else in the world at that second. He held a hand to his nose in a vain attempt to block out the smell but it was pervasive, filling his nostrils with every breath. Again and again, Hastings poured out the powder and set it alight until the stump was a blacked patchwork of skin and Smithy shivered under the shock of it. Hastings paid the man nor his convulsions no mind as he rubbed the ruined mess down with an ointment and wrapped it tight.

“If his fever breaks before morning, there is hope,” Hastings looked up, “If not, you’ll be organising a funeral, Mister Allen. Now leave me to my work.”

Kris was torn between once more challenging Hastings for his insubordinate attitude and leaving the man be. Truth be told, the entire ordeal had sapped his strength and he had no true wish to fight. Beckoning Cook to join him, he made his way up to the deck.

 

The captain was standing at the mizzen railing and called orders. Officers and men ran back and forth across the deck with reports of damage and repairs. _The Hawk_ was not in bad shape, or at least Kris did not believe that it was, but it was not in the same pristine shape that it had been leaving port. He was aware of the damage to one of the masts but he hadn’t seen anything major before he’d been shepherded below decks.

Looking around, however, there was a flurry of activity towards the edge of the ship. Had he the leisure to investigate, he would have done so, but there were certain formalities to observe before he was free to return to duty, namely reporting to Captain Forester.

“Damn and blast, men, can ye do nought without instruction?” Lieutenant Harte’s voice came from the midst of the activity, “Drop one more over the side and I swear I’ll have the skin stripped off your back.”

Kris turned to see from where his fellow’s frustrations came but he could see nothing through the throng of men and so continued up to the mizzen deck.

“Mister Allen, are you fit?” Captain Forester’s voice carried clearly over the voices of the crew.

“Aye, Captain,” Kris nodded and made his way to the mizzen deck. “Mister Hastings did fine work. I’m fit and ready for duty.”

Forester looked him over and then beckoned Kris to follow as he descended the stairs and then below decks to the Captain’s Ward Room. Kris frowned. Whatever the subject of the meeting, and Kris was in the dark as to what it could be, the Captain obviously deemed it too sensitive to discuss it on the open deck. That concerned Kris and a knot of worry moved to sit at the base of his stomach.

Kris straightened himself up as the Captain turned to look at him, not quite at attention but close as to make no odds. The Captain noticed and gestured to Kris to have a seat at the table as the Captain retrieved a decanter of port and two glasses.

“Here you go, Mister Allen,” the Captain said as he poured, “I’m about to ask you for your favour, least I can do is to provide fortitude along with the request.”

Kris was puzzled, “Captain?”

“You captured _La Rochelle_ and by every right in this man’s navy, it should be you that returns her to port and claims your fair share of the honours, but I would ask that you turn that duty over to another aboard,” Forester took a drink of his port.

Kris said nothing and did his utmost to hide the surprise on his face. In truth, he had not given thought to the situation – he had had more pressing matters on his mind – but now that the Captain drew it to his attention, he was confused as to why the Captain would ask him to buck such an established tradition. The reward for returning a captured ship was not merely a pat in the back. No, indeed, it was a percentage of the net worth of the ship and the laurels of the capture. Something almost insignificant by itself, insignificant, that is, unless one happened to be considering an advancement in station.

If others were to dock the ship, then like as not, they would claim the capture as their own and damn the consequences, and the military bureaucracy was slower than the tide and change happened at a speed that would make glaciers seem like hares in comparison. Even an Admiral’s letter could not hurry the paperwork. That said, even should the changes in the logs be changed, there would always be a shadow hanging over the victory and the rumour that money had changed hands. The Admiralty was not such a majestic and hallowed place that it was free of its share of corruption and innuendo. Even the hint of such a scandal in the wrong ears could scupper any chances of promotion sure as anything, to say nothing of the sullying of his family name.

The fact that the Captain would ask this when he knew the consequences, well, it must mean that he had reason to make the request.

“Mister Rawlings, as you know, has served by my side for almost his entire career,” the Captain started, “He put in for his Captaincy exams when he was in port but the Admiralty rebuffed his request. He has waited so long that now he is outside the age of consideration. If he brings back _La Rochelle_ , then the Admiralty will have no choice but to assign him Captain of the vessel once it has been renamed. Or at least, that is my fondest hope.” Kris was stunned speechless, but the Captain continued, “He would, of course, honour your victory, for that is one of the conditions that I laid upon him.”

The Captain sipped at his port, staring into the middle distance as he continued, “In truth, the only reason that he has missed out on promotion before now is down to a deep duty that he felt towards me and I never pushed him to progress himself up the ladder. The Admiralty at Charles Towne finds itself currently understocked for Captains with experience and it is an unarguable truth that Mister Rawlings outstrips any Lieutenant when it comes to experience. They cannot deny him a ship that he berths himself. To do so would open them to scrutiny from Bristol and London, and they can ill-afford light to be shone on their corruptions.” The Captain blinked and focuses again on Kris, “And to allow Mister Rawlings to berth her would give him an opportunity that you would not have. If you were to take charge of the ship and land her, you would be praised and then be assigned some Admiralty job to take up your time until such time as either _The Hawk_ returned to port or some other ship found itself in need of a Lieutenant on short notice. You would not be given command, not yet, Mister Allen, but Rawlings...”

“I see,” Kris said, turning over the Captain’s request in his mind.

He knew that Forester was correct in his assessments. He would indeed be given another Lieutenant’s posting rather than a command, but that Lieutenant’s posting might be as a First Lieutenant, a plum job indeed.

Rawlings was a good man and would make a fine Captain, Kris was sure, for he followed Forester’s example to the letter but the loss of such a prize and the accolades that came with sailing her home... Kris was torn, and he was sure that the Captain could tell it from his face.

“Before you make your decision, Mister Allen, let me inform you of another factor to the puzzle. We have, at present, a situation on board and while you were below decks, I instructed Mister Harte to take charge. However, he has been his usual hysterical self and has threatened the crew no fewer than a dozen times,” the Captain narrowly avoided slamming his glass down on the table, catching his temper at the last moment, “Blast him, but I have no doubt that were men like us not in charge, they would toss him clear overboard and deny all knowledge of his fate.”

“Might I enquire as to the nature of the situation?” Kris asked.

“We caught a broadside during the fight, just at the waterline. It’s a Godsend that we’re running as light as we are. The men are patching it as we speak. It should be right as rain in a couple of hours, hopefully, but we can’t sit out here with two damaged ships,” Forester topped up his glass, “It’s unavoidable that our mission be delayed, but while we have adequate guns to defend ourselves, our captured prize does not. _La Rochelle_ must be brought back to Charles Towne at our earliest convenience while we make the necessary repairs.”

Kris thought over the apparent non-sequitur and reasoned that there must be a purpose to this story that Kris could not see. After a moment’s thought, he understood, “You want to send Mister Harte back with the ship?”

“Aye, I do,” Captain Forester barked a laugh, “If you agree to my request, then I will be sending her back with Mister Rawlings at the helm and Mister Harte as part of his crew.”

Kris opened his mouth to ask a question, but it seemed as if the Captain was not yet finished speaking, “I realise that two officers is possibly going to be viewed as overkill but I find Mister Harte to have a damned annoying whine that I will not suffer while there is work to be done. Cowardly of me, I know, but with his connections at the Admiralty and back in England...” he trailed off, then coughed, “Given the number of captured privateers on board, justifications can be made. There was no structural damage done, thank the Lord. They’ve lost a sail, which they’re in the process of repairing, and enough braces and tacks that they will have a measure of difficulty should the weather change. All the better to keep Lieutenant Harte out of Rawlings’ hair, or what’s left of it at least.”

Another sip of port and the Captain continued, “But all these machinations do leave me short staffed, Lieutenant. I need someone with experience and a level head to step into the role of Acting First Officer, a role that would be made permanent should our plan succeed. Mister Rawlings will insure that credit goes to the correct parties, my word on that. And I’ll not see you without the necessary leg up that the capture will give you at the next promotion panel. I will speak for you myself.”

The Captain was being rather frank in his views and Kris respected the honesty. While still not entirely comfortable with the request, the temporary – and possibly permanent should Mister Rawlings successfully secure his first command – promotion did indeed take the sting from it.

“I’ll, of course, help in any way I can, Captain,” Kris sipped at his own port as he thought about how his mother would receive the news.

She would be overjoyed, telling every neighbour until they were sick to death of it. And his father would be proud. Daniel would resent him, of course, for it added pressure on his shoulders, to live up to the family tradition, but he would find it easy to trade on the reputations of his brother and father and would garner a good commission for himself when he was ready. And Katy, darling wonderful Katy, she would cry with joy for him, and for herself, because they would be one step closer to her permanent release from her father’s house.

“You have my appreciation, Mister Allen,” the Captain smiled and walked around to pat Kris on the shoulder, “Now, if you would, could you relieve Mister Harte and fix my ship so that we do not find ourselves at the bottom of the sea. That would be rather inconvenient, don’t you think?”

Kris smiled and nodded, “Yes, Captain.” He stood and pushed the glass across the table, “With your permission, sir?”

“Granted,” Forester dismissed him, “And congratulations, Lieutenant Allen.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kris blushed and ducked his head as he left the room.

Kris pulled the door closed behind him and paused for a moment to take a deep breath. The initial disappointment had faded to pride and he straightened his uniform jacket and wondered if he had time to duck below decks and change to a new shirt. He thought better of it when a loud clatter sounded on the deck, just beyond the doors. He hurried out to see what the commotion was and found a mess of timbers, sail cloth and riggings akimbo on the deck and Lieutenant Harte making his best attempt to reduce Archie to a blubbering mess. Cook stood behind the young midshipman, an ever watchful shadow, not leaving him unaccompanied even as he attempted to weather the storm that was Harte’s tempestuous temper.

“Are you honestly standing here in front of me and brazenly denying that this catastrophe is not your fault, boy?” Harte was towering over Archie and bellowing at the boy. “Don’t think that just because you wear the uniform of an officer that that will spare you from charges of incompetence. I don’t care what family you have in the Admiralty, I will see you drummed out of the Navy if you have made that hole even a hair’s breadth wider than it was.”

Kris stepped forward quickly, slipping easily to the heart of the escalating situation as the men saw him and stepped to the side.

“Mister Harte,” Kris’ voice was calm and, he hoped, compelling.

The Lieutenant spared him the barest of looks but it was enough to give Kris the opportunity to draw his attention to the crowd around him. The men didn’t care for fighting amongst the officers, it gave them a bad feeling, and superstitious as they were, it was considered a bad omen. And that was to say nothing of the fact that they were being observed by the relieved Captain of _La Rochelle_. All things considered, not the most awe-inspiring impression.

“Mister Allen,” Harte acknowledged him, “I have this matter in hand. I do not require your assistance at this time.”

“I’m sure you do not,” Kris soothed the man’s temper, interjecting easily, “But I was hoping that you would have a moment to brief me as to the current situation. The Captain has need of your skills in another capacity and has left me with the more... menial tasks.”

That seemed the calm Harte down somewhat, “Yes, well... This moronic excuse of a midshipman just tripped over the damned pulley line. He’s undone a half hours work and stood here making excuses while the hull fills with water.”

“Ah, I see,” Kris nodded, “I’ll have a word with Mister Archuleta and ensure that he knows the ins and outs of shipboard safety.” Kris didn’t like having conversations of this nature out under the eyes of the crew, but in this case, there was little option. “Thank you, Mister Harte. Consider yourself relieved. The Captain would like to you report to Mister Rawlings for your duties.”

Harte muttered something under his breath and even though Kris was standing right next to him, he could not pick up a single word of what he said. That was proof enough that they were words unsuitable for utterance in anything short of the most dire situations.

“Mister Archuleta, to me,” Kris ordered, “Mister Cook, I want the breach sealed in thirty minutes and not one second longer. Mister Archuleta and I are going down to the hold to see what can be done from the inside. And I will personally donate my own measure of rum to the man who taps in the last nail.”

The men scurried to comply. Kris turned on his heel and made his way below decks, trusting Cook to do the job as assigned. This wasn’t their first breach, nor would it likely be their last, but he needed to assess the damage for himself. The Captain said it was at the waterline, but with every drop of water that entered the ship, they got heavier, lowering the ship inch by precious inch.

“Lieutenant Allen,” Archie was almost breathless as he trailed along in Kris’ wake, “I swear I didn’t mean to...”

Kris turned to face the younger man. He looked up and down the corridor to assure himself that there were no others there to listen in on their conversation.

“Archie, don’t trouble yourself too much over it. Mister Harte has what could be called a volatile temper and is quick to blame anyone who happens to be close enough to the source of his misfortune,” Kris reassured Archie, patting him on the shoulder, “I would advise that you steer clear of him in the future should your paths cross again, but for now, I don’t think that there will be any problems. He’s to accompany Mister Rawlings aboard our captured prize as they sail it back to port.”

Archie frowned, “But should you not...”

Kris held up a hand, “The Captain asked me to stay and keep us from sinking. So what say you, shall we look at the hull and take a measure of how badly damaged we are?”

Archie nodded, and Kris pushed on.

 

The scene could have been taken word for word from any portside fireside tale. Beyond a barrier of sandbags, men with buckets stood calf deep and baled for all they were worth, tossing water out through the hole as fast as it was entering and keeping it barely in check. Beyond the hole were men, sitting on ropes secured to the deck railings, ready and waiting to receive the wood they’d need to start patching the hole. It was a simple enough process, lower the timber down, nail it in place then cover it with a length of greased sailcloth and seal it with tar. The work could be checked when they were docked, but it would be enough, more than enough, to last them until they berthed in Charles Towne.

It was not a common practice but thankfully the more senior seamen were trained in the task. Kris looked about to take stock. The powder kegs were stored separate and far from this place, safe and dry above the waterline.

“Let’s get the first timbers in place, men,” Kris ordered, “then we can worry about bailing the rest of the water out.” He tapped a man on the shoulder, “Go above and get me every able bodied man that can be spared, and every bucket, plate, cup, bowl or barrel that can be used to carry water.” The man ran and Kris spoke to the room in general, “I don’t fancy going swimming today, men. It’s a long way to Charles Towne. I’m fit and hale, as are you all, but I’m not sure that I would want to go without the cooks food for that long. I’ve become used to his interesting interpretations of stew surprise.”

The men laughed, but behind the joking, they understood the gravity of the situation. Should the ship sink, most of the men would die. Though they spent their lives on the waves, very few of them were competent in the water without some flotsam to cling to. And here, at least a hundred leagues from friendly shores, even the best swimmers would have little hope of making land. The only hope was to be picked up by a passing vessel and even that could be a worse fate.

Kris removed his jacket, tossing it onto a shelf. With a smile, he turned to Archie, “When I called for every able bodied man, I meant _every_ man fit for duty.”

Archie blinked, but to his credit, stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Grabbing a bucket, he took his place and started bailing. The seaman to his side quirked an eyebrow at his pace, which was significantly slower than the men around him to begin with, but quickened dramatically once he caught the rhythm from the other men. Kris, for his part, was watching the progress of the work outside. His arm ached still but he did not let it stand in his way.

The timbers were being lowered, but they were heavy and the men outside would need every hand to drive the nails into the boards, and so, he helped guide them into place and with the help of some other men, held them steady until they were secured. One board and then another gave them enough breathing room to begin bailing in earnest. Chains were formed to pass buckets back up the stairs to the deck in addition to the efforts of others who were simply tossing the water through the breach. It didn’t take long to empty the room of all but the barest covering of water. Kris did not worry about that. Worse than that was taken on in a storm and would dry easily enough.

“That’s it, men, seal her up,” Kris ordered.

He stayed until the last stroke of tar was applied, congratulating the men on their fine work and making sure that he had the name of the man who drove the last nail home. It was Jenkins, one of his gun crew and part of the crew that had taken _La Rochelle_. Though they didn’t know it now, Kris would leave instructions that all the men be given a measure and a half of rum tonight for their hard work.

He gathered his jacket and made his way back up to give his report. Archie fell into step beside him, excitedly chattering, but Kris was not listening. He’d sent a man down to survey the lower decks but he’d reported that they had been fine, so all that was left of this particular problem was to inform the Captain that they were ready to set sail. His mind was running faster than the wind, trying to work out what duties he’d need to attend to in his new role. One crisis had been avoided, but splitting the crew and sailing home would be a challenge. He was sure that the hull breach was just the most severe of the damage that they’d taken.

“Archie,” Kris cut into his friend’s babbling, “I need you to find the Quartermaster and get an inventory from him of all repair materials we’ve used and what is left.”

Archie nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“And once you do that, I need you to talk to Boatswain Mills. He’s like as not been assigned to assessing the damage. Ask him to get me a list of everything that needs to be mended before we set sail,” Kris turned to face him, “Trust him to know what’s necessary and don’t be afraid to question him. He may have pulled Mister Cook to help him. They usually work quite closely together. Quick as you can, Archie, the longer we sit out here, the larger a target we are for any ship who happens to sail past.”

“Is it likely that a ship would just happen past?” Archie asked.

“Remember the mission that we are engaged on, Archie. There are reports of pirates in these waters and they would like nothing more than to get a clear shot at a naval vessel,” Kris shook his head, “Let’s get underway as soon as we can and deny them the opportunity.”

“Aye, sir,” Archie bobbed his head and dashed up the stairs.

Kris moved at a slightly slower rate but determined all the same. The Captain stood, once again, on the mizzen deck, conferring with the helmsman. The deck looked emptier this time and Kris turned his eye on _La Rochelle_. Mister Harte and Mister Rawlings were clearly visible on deck, issuing orders and sending men about their duties. Men were climbing what little rigging was left and dragging lengths of sail cloth with them. It looked as if they would be under sail in short time.

Continuing on to where the Captain stood, Kris saluted, “The breach has been fixed and appears to be holding. The area is drying out.”

The Captain nodded, “Good work, Allen. I’ve sent the crew over to _La Rochelle_. With a measure of luck they should be underway in less than half an hour. How do we fare?”

“I’ve sent Mister Archuleta to get an accounting from Mister Mills. He should be reporting at any time, Captain,” Kris reassured the captain.

“Very good. Keep me informed,” Forester acknowledged, “I’ll need you to examine the rosters and rework the watches to take into account our diminished numbers.”

“Of course, Captain.”

Forester dismissed him to continue monitoring the repairs and ensuring that they were ready to set sail as soon as humanly possible. Kris made his way back down to the main deck, stopping to speak with the men as they worked and imparting some encouraging words as he went. With the crew almost halved, each man needed to work harder and put every ounce of energy into the work that he was assigned, whether that be repairing the woodwork or mending the sailcloth or the thousand other jobs that needed to be completed before they could be deemed shipshape.

“Mister Allen,” Archie was by his shoulder.

Kris turned to look and saw Archie’s troubled expression. Cook, who hovered shadow close, was no happier.

“I couldn’t speak to Mister Mills, sir, but I spoke to his apprentice,” Archie began, “One of the cannon shot grazed the fore mast, close to the top. Mister Mills is up there now with Carpenter Thompson assessing the damage. In addition to that, our anchor windlass was destroyed and we’re moored on what he thinks must be a reef. Some of our capstans have been damaged also but the men are working on something that may bypass them until we are back at port.”

Kris flicked a glance at Mister Cook and received a sharp nod which confirmed the young midshipman’s words.

“Alright,” Kris looked back at Archie, “Archie, I need you to watch closely what the men are doing to repair or replace the capstans. The lines need to hold in place until we reach port and make sure that they know that the weather may shift and we may need to change the tension or we risk the sails and the masts. Let them work on a solution, but ensure that it is something serviceable. We do not need tragedy to strike us just because the wind changes.”

Archie nodded and was off before Kris could formally dismiss him. He watched the lad go, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head.

“If only there was a way to harness his energy and use it to sail us home, we would be docked before the devil could blink,” Kris smiled. Cook didn’t reply but Kris could see the slight quirk that raised the corner of his lip slightly. “Mister Cook, you are to visit with Mister Mills in the rigging and see what his assessment of the mast is. Most importantly, is it something that can simply be braced until we make Charles Town or must we take the time now to either remove the top section of mast or repair it. I know which I would prefer but it’s going to be his judgement that we must follow.”

“Aye, sir,” Cook bobbed his head and took a step back. But he seemed to think of something and stepped forward again, “Begging your pardon, Mister Allen, I just recalled something said while Mister Archuleta was speaking to Mister Mills’ second. It wasn’t said directly to me, but I just happened to be in the vicinity of the conversation, sir, and I believe it to be something that might bear investigating. After the Captain’s words following the drills, sir, I believe that one of the officers ordered the gunners to move some of the powder from the powder store to have it closer to hand.”

Kris frowned. Such a thing was severely frowned on even with orders from an officer. The possibilities of a stray spark or an accident were high on board and while usually harmless, if the gunpowder is spread through the ship, it became a much more dangerous prospect. They’d had a breach by enemy guns, but to hull your own ship due to carelessness or ignorance of danger... Well, one may as well walk into the Admiralty and resign their commission.

“I don’t suppose that the conversation mentioned who gave the order?” Kris asked.

Cook looked embarrassed and scratched at his beard, “I’d rather not say without being sure and certain, Mister Allen. But... Well... The reason I brought this to your attention, sir, was because they mentioned that it was being stored below decks and not far from where we were breached. They were trying to find a way to inform the captain that we may have lost several measures of powder.”

Kris blanched, “I see. Well, thank you for informing me. I shall speak with the gun crews. Dismissed.”

Cook spun on his heel and set off to the Foremast as Kris made his way below decks. It was easy to locate the makeshift storeroom that had been used. And to his shame, Kris waited outside it, listening in secret to the chatter back and forth between two of the senior gunners. Eavesdropping was frowned on in polite society, but there were times, such as this, when the men would try to shield a commanding officer. It was not out of duty but rather out of fear of threatened consequences. He’d learned at his father’s knee that sometimes it was best to overhear the necessary information rather than to get the men in trouble. Of course, should she know, his mother would be outraged and tell him that it was no way for an officer or a gentleman to act, but she knew nothing of how vindictive officers could be out on the waves.

“...maybe we can dry it out?”

“Yeah, let’s just spread it out in front of the fire,” there was a sound of an impact, and then, “’ow many times were you dropped on your ‘ead when you were a tyke? I’m sure the Capt’n will be real understanding when we blow another ‘ole in ‘is ship. Idiot!”

“Don’t see why we can’t just go to the Capt’n and tell ‘im that we got told to move the powder. I mean, ‘e can’t be mad at us. Not even ‘arte knew we was gonna get shot at.”

There was a sigh and the other man spoke, “No tellin’ that it wasn’t Capt’n’s orders that ‘ad it moved and ‘e’s not goin’ to be mad that we didn’t run straight down ‘ere to save it. Ya know officers well as I do, Ollie, never can tell what they’re gonna do and I’ll be damned if I want t’face the cat just cause ‘e’s mad at us.”

Kris had what he needed and more besides, but he needed to know the scope of the problem. He rapped on the door with a knuckle, “Anyone about?”

There was a muffled curse on the other side of the door and it opened slowly, “Mister Allen, sir, yes, sir. We’re just assessin’ how bad it is ‘fore we came t’find ya.”

Kris nodded at the lie, looking around, “You have a count of how many measures we’ve lost?”

“’bout thirty seven, Mister Allen. Half of what we had, we reckon.”

“Or close enough,” the other man threw in.

Kris did the calculations in his head, working out how many shots that gave them and realised that it was leaving them rather tight. If they ran into someone else, someone hostile, a ship that could match them in guns or determination, they would need every grain of powder they could scrape together. To have so little, less than one measured sack per gun with perhaps five or six shots per sack, was worrying and something that the Captain would need to know as soon as possible.

“Salvage what you can, men,” Kris ordered, “And make sure that the powder store is secure and safe. Put a guard on this room. We don’t need any more accidents.”

“Aye, Mister Allen,” the men returned.

Kris turned and hurried back to the Captain. Forrester was still on the Mizzen deck, engaged in conversation with the man at the helm, with Archie close by. They appeared to be testing the capstan rig and seeing that it would hold. Kris took the steps one at a time, though every fibre of his being told him to hurry. A bad feeling was beginning to settle in his stomach again and in his heart, he knew that their bad luck had not left them yet.

“Captain, may I have a word with you in private, sir?” Kris kept his voice low as he spoke which clearly intrigued the Captain.

They didn’t step below to the Captain’s ward room as Kris would have liked but instead stepped to the aft and away from any ears that might be inclined to listen. Before Kris could begin speaking, a whistle rang out from _La Rochelle_ as they declared themselves ready to sail. The Captain waved them off, saluting them as they set course for Charles Towne.

“With the wind, they should be in port in under a day,” Forester remarked approvingly.

“Captain,” Kris interrupted, “I’ve just discovered a rather distressing piece of news.”

The Captain looked at him, eyebrow quirked, “Oh? And what might that be, Mister Allen?”

“It seems as if Mister Harte took an unfair advantage in the drills that you had us run, Captain,” Kris began.

“Now is not the time for dwelling on past victories, Mister Allen, you won the contest...”

Kris shook his head, “Yes, sir, and I understand that, but the matter of which I speak is one more serious than simply timings. He had the powder moved, do you see, forward of the main stores, to the middle of the ship, taking over a disused store directly below midships.”

“Below midships?” Forester repeated, his brows furrowing. His eyes widened as he realised, “Below midships, but that’s where...”

Kris nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Dear God what was he thinking moving it from the safety of the main stores? How much have we lost?” The captain's questions were coming thick and fast now that the severity of the situation struck him.

Kris gave him an accurate accounting, drawing on his own best estimation to ensure that the captain was aware of how vulnerable they were. The original plan after setting sail was had been to travel through the Caribbean, making port if and when they needed to and as such, they were not as heavily loaded as they usually were. With the multitude of islands at their disposal and the colonies all stocking both powder and food, it had seemed a good idea and one that Kris had not questioned, but now, he was torn between the wisdom of decision and the thankfulness that they did not have more powder to lose in such a foolhardy move. The captain was having no such split in his opinions and by God as his witness, Kris could have sworn an oath that had Harte not been under sail on another vessel that the Captain would have drawn his sword and split him neatly down the centre. Kris could not blame him one iota.

“Hurry the men in their jobs. We knew we could ill afford to simply sit out here and repair every splinter on the boat, but I thought that we could at least mount an adequate defence should the worst happen. Now it seems as if both our ships must hobble to port before trouble finds us,” the Captain paused, “To station, Mister Allen. Tell the men that I want us ship shape, or as near as we can be, within an hour.”

“Aye, sir,” Kris saluted and turned on his heel.

Shouting the orders from the Mizzen railing and seeing the men snap to, Kris shivered. The bad feeling that he’d had just moments ago was starting to grow and he swore that something was waiting on them just beyond the horizon. He could feel footsteps on his grave but bit back the sensation. Devil take them all if they went without a fight. Bad feeling or no, they had work to do and damned be anyone who tried to come between them and safe harbour.


	4. Ill Winds and Stormy Skies

  


  
_20th May 1710  
Heading North-North-West, Returning to Charles Towne Harbour_   


Time passed quickly and Kris’ bad feeling grew with every second. Mister Mills had returned his verdict on the damage to the mast and it was not good news. While it could be braced, the damage was such that he recommended that the entire mast and the connected yard arms be replaced. It was not a job that could be done at sea. No indeed, it was something that would keep them in dry dock for at least two weeks. To further to their problems, the damaged mast meant that they would be returning at a rather sickly pace.

This had not been the news that the Captain had desired but with barely a curse, he had gathered his senior staff in the ward room to appraise them of the situation. The midshipmen, the ensigns and the chief petty officers had been shocked. Kris, of course, had gotten the reports first and was not surprised by the news but Archie on the other hand... Well, his eyes were now much larger than dinner plates and were making their best impression of twin moons. It would have been almost comical if not for the direness of the situation.

“Suffice it to say, gentlemen, that this was not the outcome that I was hoping for,” Captain Forester stood facing them, his fists curled on the desk to support his weight, “But we’re not going to be sunk just because those damned privateers got in a few lucky shots. Mister Allen had redone the watches and will post the assignments after this meeting.” Forester paused for a second before dropping his voice and letting a little of the captain tone out of his voice, “We must be ever vigilant in this time, men, that goes without saying. Instruct your watchmates that any sight, any sound out of the ordinary must be reported and investigated. There will be no punishment, indeed not, should they call a false alarm. It is thirty leagues and more to safe harbour and there is an entire sea of vessels out there who do not proclaim to be friendly. I would much rather they call ‘foe’ and we be prepared, than risk losing the opportunity to defend ourselves. Do all you can to reassure the crew.”

He turned to the rather non-descript man at the back of the room, “Steward, please inform the cooks that they are authorised to use the finest cuts of meat for the men’s meals. Officer cuts, I believe they call them. All men will eat equally until we return to port. They’ll be pulling double duty until we berth; the least we can do is compensate them for their efforts.”

The steward, Mister Anders, bobbed his head and excused himself. Kris had to admit that he hadn’t even noticed the man standing there until the Captain had addressed him. But that was part and parcel of his role as the Captain’s man. Average height, average build, with greying brown hair, he’d served the captain faithfully for many years, and Kris had no doubt that he would oversee the cooks this evening and ensure that the captain’s orders were carried out to the letter.

“Acting First Officer Lieutenant Allen will be available should you have any further questions,” Forester waited a second for the words to register amongst the staff. “And I shall be reviewing our situation constantly through his reports. If there are no more question, gentlemen, you are dismissed.”

The men nodded and filed out, the whispers growing as they went. Kris could feel eyes on him but not in a malicious manner. Lord no, there were congratulatory pats on the back and words of joy at the Captain’s decision, which lasted until he revealed the watch roster. With a diminished crew, it was not just the men who were pulling double watches. Each man, himself included, was to take a double watch, overlapping with their mates as necessary. Kris was not leaving their fate to chance and though it was a tough duty, it would only last for a day or two days at most and then they would have free time galore to sleep or drink or pursue any manner of recreation their hearts desired. But, harsh as the schedule was, no man could say that he was being treated unfairly. Kris had drawn up the roster with equal weighting and putting himself down for the midnight to dawn watch to save grousing. Archie was to be his companion on that watch with a crew that Kris knew would give him no trouble.

Most of the watches had two officers where possible but where it was not, one of the Chief Petty Officers had been enlisted to help round out the numbers. Midshipmen taking a full watch as the watch commander was rare but in these troubled times, it was all hands to stations.

“Find your watch crews and inform them of their schedules. All of you who are free, use your time wisely.” Kris turned to Archie, gesturing him closer and away from the other senior staff, “Mister Archuleta, you and I have the midnight watch. I suggest that you and your crew take food now and then make to your bunks. It’s a horrid watch and the better rested you are, the less likely you are to be tempted to sleep.”

Archie bit his lip nervously but nodded, “Yes, Mister Allen.”

Kris patted him on the back, “Your crew should be somewhere about midships.”

Archie smiled and drew himself up, straightening his jacket, “Yes, sir. I’ll go inform them now.”

Kris watched him go and smiled. He had the enthusiasm of a young pup but there was something in his eye that led Kris to believe that he would be a strong officer one day and second to none in the Navy.

Kris straightened his own uniform and followed Archie out onto the deck. His own watch crew had gathered themselves and were waiting for their orders with the hopeful gaze of those who suspected that their duty was done for now.

“We up for the Midnight, sir?” asked one of the men.

Kris nodded, “Yes, Ellis, we are. So you know what that means. Grab your fill now and I want you well rested. I’ll wake you an hour before the watch so that you can have a lighter meal before we’re due to stand.”

A chorus of ‘Ayes’ sounded and the men disappeared below decks in the direction of the mess. Kris didn’t leave the deck for almost an hour after that, making sure that everything was shipshape before he retired for the evening. He left orders that he was to be woken should anything happen. It was only when he saw his bunk that he realised how damnedably tired he was. It had been a long day and it had been sheer force of will and nerves alone that had kept him moving. He pulled off his navy and white jacket and hung it over the back of a chair and changed into a clean shirt – He dare not remove more than that given the situation – and settled back on his straw-filled bunk. He was asleep almost before his head touched his pillow.

 

 

Kris came awake at the first touch to his shoulder, jerking up and grabbing for his pistol, scaring the wits out of Samuel as swung it round to aim at the intruder. The boy backed up until he was flat against the door, plate and cup shaking in his hands. It took Kris a second to recognise the intruder and deem him friend, lowering his pistol and putting it aside.

“Mis... Mis... Mister Cook sent me to wake you,” Samuel stammered before Kris could apologise, “He... He said to bring you some of the food cook put aside for the watches. And coffee.”

Kris rubbed his face with his hand, running it back over his hair and scrubbing it with a hand. He was still tired and his dreams had been troubled, an unholy hybrid of his fears for Katy and the constant threat of pirates attacking when they were weakest. He doubted that any man aboard ship was any different and with the precariousness of their situation, he could be forgiven for being a little overcautious and drawing pistol before he could draw breath.

“Mister Cook? He sent you down here?” Kris asked, his mind easily ten seconds behind the world.

“Yes, sir,” Samuel stepped forward, putting down the food before handing Kris the coffee.

Kris drank the first mouthful and grimaced. There was nothing like that first taste of badly brewed coffee after a rough sleep. It was strong as tar and twice as black, with a hint of salt through it, though not enough to steal any of the bitterness of the blend.

“What time is it?” Kris squinted at the world beyond his porthole.

“Just gone half past eleven,” Samuel said. “Your watch is awake and in the mess.”

Kris nodded, his mind clearing, “Good. Thank you, Samuel. You should go, get some sleep. Midnight is no hour for a boy to be awake.”

“I’m to be your runner, Mister Allen. Mister Cook assigned me, told me to sleep until just before I came to wake you, sir. I’m to do anything you need on watch,” Samuel looked proud and Kris smiled at him.

“Alright then,” Kris pushed himself to his feet and made his way over to the small table, “Can you make sure that someone woke Mister Archuleta and have him meet me on deck in fifteen minutes?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Allen, sir,” and off he went, running to do the task that Kris had set him.

Kris took his time, or as much as he was able, and ate his fill. It was simple but good as any dish that his mother would allow on her table. Salted beef, washed and stewed for hours until it was tender and almost buttery, soft vegetables and with cubes of potatoes suspended in the beef broth and served with a thick slice of buttered bread. It was warm and left him filled. This was definitely one of the better meals that the cooks had prepared. A stew was hard to get wrong but Kris had, on occasion, found that the impossible was often attainable given the right situation.

Picking up his jacket, he flapped it in an attempt to remove any wrinkles before putting it on. A tug on each sleeve and a run of his fingers through his hair and he was ready for duty. He rolled his shoulder and tested his arm. It was still a little sore but it had settled into a dull throb that was more irritating than painful.

Kris could still feel the ghosts of his nightmares lingering but determined to put them behind him. It was a new eve and they had, like as not, set sail while he slept bringing them closer to port and to home. The knot of worry still sat, cold and ever-present, but there was nothing and no one to support the feeling. No evidence or even vague hint as to the cause of the anxiety so he put that too to one side and stepped out of his cabin.

When he stepped onto the deck, the night air was bracing but warmer than usual but not warm enough to prevent a shiver from racking through him. The still, silent night was cut only by the footsteps of the men around him moving over the deck. Kris made his way to the Mizzen deck where the Captain stood speaking quietly to his watch crews. Kris frowned to see him there but in hindsight, he should not have been surprised to see Forester stepping up to take a shift. He had been left off the roster deliberately, but with only a midshipman as the senior watch commander, and a new one at that, had he not been so tired, Kris could have probably predicted that the Captain would be there to oversee the lad’s first solo watch.

“I trust you are well rested, Mister Allen,” Forester greeted him.

Kris nodded, “Well rested and well fed, Captain. I trust I have not missed too much excitement.”

“Regrettably, Mister Allen, it has been dull and boring in your absence and if luck is on our side, it will remain so,” the Captain smiled, “No incidents to report, Lieutenant. No vessels sighted or land either. We are proceeding on a course of north-north-west and should not need any changes to the course during the watch.”

Kris made note of the directions and tucked away his pad of notes in his jacket. He would need to keep a weather eye on that during the watch to ensure that the tricky Caribbean tides did not pull them off course, or as was more likely, that the rigged mechanisms that they had put in place were keeping everything as it should be.

“Is there anything else that should be reported, Captain?” Kris asked.

“That is all, I believe.”

“Then, Captain, I am relieving you of the duty of the watch,” Kris saluted the Captain and was in turn saluted.

“I am relieved, Lieutenant. Good night and fair winds.”

It was formality and tradition, the wording written out in every naval handbook that Kris had ever studied, but being formality, it had quickly entered the realm of superstition with some men refusing to leave the deck unless the words followed the correct format. The Captain, thankfully, was not of that ilk but had previously confided in Kris that he had not come up with a more appropriate wording yet.

“You are sharing watch with Mister Archuleta this evening, are you not?” Forester asked.

“Yes, Captain.”

The captain nodded and seemed to think for a moment, “How is he getting on? Is he learning how we work?”

Kris took a breath as he worked through his answers, “On the whole, he is doing quite well. He’s a quick study and I have not had to give the same instruction to him on more than one occasion. He is young and exuberant but I fear that he has yet to find his sea legs. I don’t believe that this will be a problem for long. He is already better than he was. It’s unfortunate that we suffered damage enough to force us to return to port so soon. Another few weeks and I feel that we would have had a first rate midshipman. His family wouldn’t recognise him, I’d wager.”

“In that case, I shall do my best to convince the Commodore to allow him stay assigned to _The Hawk_. He is a man, unfortunately, who requires quick results but will never take the lion’s share of the work,” Forester sighed. “If he is learning well and you believe him worth the effort, then a few fast words may be all that it takes.”

Kris did not answer for a moment, thinking about the situation, “There will be work that needs to be done during our repairs. As First Officer, even acting, I will be engaged to supervise. There is no reason why we could not have Mister Archuleta so assigned alongside myself and the other crew. It’s well within a Captain’s authority to keep his crew attached to the ship if there is work enough to be done.”

“A fast mind,” the Captain laughed, “And devious along side. If you keep this up, I fear that I will lose you to the Admiralty and what a loss that would be, and not just for myself or the ship.”

Kris quirked an eyebrow, “I’m not sure I follow your logic, Captain.”

“For yourself as well, Lieutenant, for you would surely lose your mind lost amongst the missives and the dry stacks.”

Huffing a laugh, Kris nodded, “You might well be correct, sir.”

Archie chose that moment to step out onto the deck and Kris’s laugh faded off, the Captain’s too. Kris raised a hand and beckoned Archie over. With his customary relish, Archie hurried over, taking the steps two at a bound to salute both officers. The Captain returned the salute, with Kris just a fraction of a second slower.

“Now that I know my ship is in capable hands, gentlemen, I’m sure that you will excuse me. My bunk, with its lumpy straw mattress, beckons to me like a lover’s embrace,” Forester touched his thumb to forefinger and doffed an imaginary cap, “Good night and may the next time we meet be on the morrow.”

Kris smiled at Forester’s lyricism and bid the Captain good night. He disappeared below decks with his watch crews disappearing behind him as Kris’ crews took their places.

“Did you sleep, Archie?” Kris asked conversationally.

There was a moment’s pause before the boy answered, “Yes, sir.”

Kris found it telling that Archie appeared to be fascinated with the decking below his feet and could not raise his eyes to meet Kris’. And though the lamplight left quite a few shadows, there was a schoolgirl blush on his cheeks. Kris schooled his face so as to not give away his intuitions, but it seemed as if the boy had taken the time to find a modicum of relief for himself, and in truth, Kris could not lay blame despite the church’s preaching on that matter. The sea was a lonely enough place and the ship crowded enough that when one was alone, it was only natural to give into one’s own body’s urges. The men who were tempted towards the carnal usually waited for the tavern wenches, poxed for the most part, and spent their wages there on alcohol and vice, but those of a higher station preferred to take care of those particular matters themselves if the need arose. Given Archie’s age, and what appeared to Kris to be his all-too-visible innocence, it was likely the case that even the very decking would give him cause to find a quiet spot and adjust his trousers.

“Best you visit the watch stations and ensure that your men are fit and ready for duty. The Captain had nothing to report before he was relieved for the evening,” Kris informed the midshipman, neatly steering the conversation to safer topics, “Your crew lines the port side and mine the starboard.”

“Yes, Mister Allen,” Archie nodded and took the dismissal.

Kris followed at a slower pace, making his first pass of the evening. His crew were a mixture of old hands and new faces but he greeted them all warmly and exchanged quick words, quietly assessing as he went. They all appeared capable and ready to stand watch until shortly after the first dawn rays. His first pass concluded he took his place at the bow of the ship, eyes focused on the water in front. Ever since his father had brought him on board and taken him on his first voyage on a ship – just a simple jaunt around the coastline to ensure that the ship was seaworthy following a repair – Kris had found that of all the places he could stand, his favourite by a country mile was at the bow sprit and watch the water ahead. It was wondrous, and he had never grown tired of the watching the ship cut through the endless water before them. There was a true sense of adventure to be found there. Watching the waves break as the ship passed, seeing land ahead and tracking it as they closed the distance. Houses grew from specks of colour against a patchwork of green to little bigger than matchbooks and people grew from ants to waving figures, excited to see them. But tonight there was nothing except endless miles of water and not another living creature was to be seen. _La Rochelle_ was long gone and over the horizon. Even fish and whales seemed to know better than to breach the water.

Archie coughed as he approached and Kris appreciated the warning. Kris didn’t have to make room, there was room enough at the bow for a good portion of the remaining crew, but he did. It was a silent invitation to the younger man and one that he took eagerly, standing close enough so that Kris didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard but far enough away so that he maintained a respectful distance. Kris couldn’t quite hide the smile. Archie seemed to have swallowed every book on naval etiquette, or had it recited at him by the Admiral, a man who probably could no longer remember his days as a junior officer. _The Hawk_ , and most ships of her type with decent captains, were more relaxed than the Admiralty expected them to be but on the whole, it worked better; cohesion between the men and a willingness to pitch in when the situation warranted it. There were notable exceptions though, it had to be said, but thankfully he’d left on _La Rochelle_ and hopefully would stay with Rawlings on his new command, should he successfully secure it.

“Are you satisfied with the men,” Kris asked finally, breaking their silence.

“Yes, sir. They all seem well rested and took the opportunity to eat prior to coming on deck,” Archie answered.

Kris nodded, and the silence fell again. It lasted for an hour, perhaps more, just random sentences of no consequence with quiet periods that stretched comfortably between them. Neither man felt the need to prattle endlessly about things of no consequence, and both watched the horizon, trusting their men to do the same.

Kris straightened eventually, stretching his back, “I’m going to walk the deck, Archie, check in on the men. Might be an idea to do the same.”

The younger man was half way through a nod when, from somewhere above them, a shout sounded out.

“SHIP AHOY. DEAD AHEAD.”

Kris snapped his looking glass out and trained it on the horizon, scanning for the vessel. For unending seconds, Kris could spot nothing, but a flash of colour caught his eye as he swept past. Returning the glass to the blurry image, he tightened the focus, bringing out as much detail as he could. It was still a distance away and he couldn’t make out much detail, but the watchman was right. It was indeed a ship and it was dead ahead.

“Good eye,” Kris called up. “Keep watch on it and let me know if it makes any movements.”

“Aye, Mister Allen, aye,” came the reply and Kris took one last look before starting his walk through his watch crew.

The call had perked them up and they were watching their own sections with renewed vigour, hoping that they would see no enemy sign even as they prayed to the Saints that no trouble would come that night. Kris cast up his own prayers but it did little to calm him. The knot of worry had returned and seemed to be amassing more matter at an alarming rate. There was tension on the breeze and even though he wore a brave face, the men would not be reassured. Those more experienced in the way of things checked their pistols and daggers, testing the powder to make sure that no water had snuck its way into the mechanism and thumbing the edge of their blades. It did not seem to matter to them that there were leagues and leagues between _the Hawk_ and this still unidentified vessel. No, indeed, they seemed to share Kris’ bad feeling almost to a man.

Kris left them to it, returning to the bow sprit and training his looking glass out over the waves in a vain attempt to read a name or see a flag or a pennant, something to calm the men and to kill the taste of bile in his own mouth. He thought that he could make out the vaguest hint of blue and red but that did not narrow the field of possibilities down as far as he’d like. He could name two countries other than their own nation that used those colours without drawing breath, and of those two, the Dutch had an uneasy truce with the British that everyone expected to break before Summer was out and the French were engaged in outright war with any British vessel they came across. That was not even to make mention of Spain and their simple white and red flag, which was not to be ruled out. With the War of Succession still raging and Britain being a stalwart supporter of the true heir, Spain had their own axe to grind. Add in Privateers of various nationalities and it was quite the melting pot of potential enemies.

There were too many possibilities and too little information at this time and with no information, there was no point in waking the Captain. Forester would simply tell them to keep a watch on the vessel before rolling over and falling asleep again and right he would be to do so.

Minutes ticked by and hours until, shortly before two o’clock, the watchman who had first spotted the vessel called down, “MISTER ALLEN, SHE’S FLYING AN ENSIGN AT THE STERN.”

The sigh of relief from the crew was palpable and even Kris felt himself relax. There was still a tension to the air but it was dissipating slowly thanks to that one proclamation.

“Thank you, watch,” Kris called up, then turning to Archie, “Fetch the signal lights. Let’s send a message to our sister ship.”

Archie hastened to grab the large lantern and held it in hands that were not steady.

“Just as we did with _La Rochelle_ , Archie, if you please,” Kris spoke softly, “Send them our identification and let’s see their reply.”

Archie worked the signal lantern, sure and steady, sending the memorised sequence and then waited for a reply. None came so he sent it again, but the same answer was returned.

Kris patted him on the shoulder, “They may not have spotted the signal. We’ll resend it in a few minutes. We’re still a goodly distance from them.”

Archie nodded, but he did not look convinced, and even Kris could hear the hollowness of his words. It was too soon after the fight with _La Rochelle_ for either man to be at full confidence.

Had he not been on watch, Kris would have called for rum to take the dryness from his mouth, but as it was, he sent Samuel for coffee. The boy had been hiding out of sight near the main mast, awake and working on some of the more common sailors’ knots – lessons set by one of the men apparently. The coffee when he brought it was hot and strong and tasted as if it had been brewed up with a pair of the cook’s undergarments, but it was good enough and it hit the spot, warming him against the chill that he felt. The coffee was passed around and everyone had their fill before going back to their stations.

Even though the ship had been deemed to be flying the same colours as _The Hawk_ , that did not mean that it was to be simply ignored. No, given the inexplicable failure to respond, she was kept under constant watch, with every man watching for the slightest sign that she was not what she proclaimed herself to be. Simply flying the White Ensign could be a means to keep herself safe as she went on her way. Kris thought back to the Captain’s words before their encounter with _La Rochelle_.

No British Naval ships were due to be in this sector.

But, by the same measure, _the Hawk_ was not due to be returning to Charles Towne so soon. Plans changed and sometimes the unexpected could make fools of the wisest of men. The mute ship could be in distress. Plague and illness were not uncommon, and neither was disaster. They may not have men enough to man a watch this late at night.

The ship was a frigate, as was _The Hawk_ but she appeared to be of a more delicate constitution, with a lesser compliment of guns. Two major masts along with the bow sprit, with five sails in all, and probably between twenty and thirty guns. Dangerous in her own right but no match for _The Hawk_ on a good day. Today was not a good day, nor in point of fact, a good night.

Kris trained his looking glass on the ship again, squinting and refocusing the image in an attempt to discern more information, to find another clue to the ships identity, something that could put their minds at ease. But at this distance, there was nothing. With a sigh, he handed the device to Archie and instructed him to keep watch on the vessel and to keep signalling every quarter hour as he went to speak to the helmsman.

“How fare we?” Kris asked the man, Mitchell, as he came close.

Mitchell had a look of deep unease on his face. The man had been assigned to _The Hawk_ for as long as Kris could remember and never once cracked a smile. That he was looking darker than midnight now did not bode well.

“I got an itch something rotten in my foot,” the man groused, “The left one.”

Kris did not have to look down to know that the man’s left leg, everything below the knee, had been tragically lost five years earlier, only to be replaced by the solidest of oaks. It had been during a fearsome battle off the coast of Hallifax. They’d lost men by the dozen that day, and damned near lost the ship. Kris had scars of his own from that battle but none as evident as those Mitchell carried. But since that day, Mitchell had proclaimed to have what he liked to call his wood. While other men felt foreboding in their blood or in their gut, Mitchell felt his in his wood, the crudely sculpted replacement that a navy surgeon had strapped on. And the man had never been wrong.

“Didya ken that she isna movin’?” Mitchell asked as he gripped hard to the wheel. “Or least by no reckonin’ I can make.”

Kris looked from the man to the distant ship, “No. No, I admit that I had not.”

“By my mind, we’re gunna run her o’er, iffin’ we keep this headin’,” the man said. “She’s in our course, sir. No doubts on that.”

Taking a moment and frowning, Kris considered, “Take us around her, Mister Mitchell, keep a wide berth and we shall see what she does.”

“Aye, Mister Allen,” Mitchell said as he guided the wheel.

 _The Hawk_ swung gently and the enigma was now no longer straight ahead but rather ahead and slightly to port. Kris stayed where he was, standing firm as he watched the men shift uncomfortably in their stance.

Seconds passed tortuously slow and turned into agonising minutes until it was hard to draw breath. Night crawled past and when someone rang the three o’clock bell, Kris could not believe that they were just a scant three hours into their watch. It felt as if the sun should be crawling from her bed at any moment and chasing the moon away.

So focussed on the ship was he, that Archie was almost upon him before he noticed him. Without a word, he handed over the looking glass and pointed out toward the ship. They had some distance yet before they would be level, but the view was clear. Kris frowned as he focused the device. Pulling it away from his eye, he looked to Archie who looked back at him, eyes hopeful that Kris would dismiss the thoughts that were running scared around his head, but the same thoughts had captured Kris and there was little he could do to dispel them.

The ship, still unnamed, was deserted. Not a man stood upon the deck, nor was there any sign that anyone had stood there in recent history except that lanterns burned bright from every mast and upright. Cobwebs clung to each surface, linking masts to lines to railings. Damage was visible to the hull, darkened patches where the wood was charred and burnt. The sails looked to be full, but she was steady in the water, not moving more than the tide would allow. The name was not visible from this angle. Kris drew down the looking glass and crossed himself reflexively, a prayer on his lips.

“Mister Archuleta,” Kris started, though it took him two tries to get the words from his dry throat. “Go to the Captain and brief him on the ship. Tell him that we have had no reply to any signal. Tell him quickly, now.”

“Shall I tell him about the...” Archie allowed his words to trail off.

“Everything, Archie. Tell him everything,” Kris instructed him.

Kris watched the ship. The uneasy feeling from earlier that night had never left but now it was solid and ever present, expanding to take every inch of available space inside him and wrapping itself tightly around his spine. Superstitious though most sailors were, they were men of solid views and solid convictions and tales of ghost ships were rife but they were just that, tales as tall as the highest of mountains. But, even now, the men on the port side took a step back from the railing, putting distance between them and the unnamed, unmanned ship.

A man not too far from him, Kris didn’t know his name but recognised him as a new member of the crew taken on just prior to setting sail, started speaking. The words were not directed to any one person, but rather to the breeze and the night.

“There’s a story told up and down the coast of a crewless ship,” he started, “Sunk these ten years past in an act of treachery so dark that no one dares speak of it in anything but the most hushed of voices around tavern fires by men so deep in the bottle that they do not know what it is they are saying,” he paused to look around, “Heard it myself when I was scratching a living in Boston. It’s said that she was once a navy vessel just like _The Hawk_ but that the captain was a man who’s only motivation was money and fortune. No one knows truly what happened on board but every man has their ideas. The story I heard was one of piracy...”

Kris cut in neatly, his voice easily loud enough to carry to any ears that might have been listening to the man, “That’s quite enough of that. Your duty is to keep eyes on that ship and inform the officer of the watch of anything that you might see, any movement, any sign of hostility.”

“Won’t be none of that, Mister Allen, sir,” the man grinned widely, “’Tis a cursed ship and we’re cursed now that we’re in her sights.”

Kris turned to face the man, anger seeping into his voice even though Kris kept it low and dangerous, “I will have your silence on this matter. That is an order. No one needs to hear the prattling of a drunkard’s story. Spread it around once we make land but I will not have you putting such thoughts into the men.”

“Are they not right to be afraid, Mister Allen?” the man spoke loudly and Kris winced. “Every man with eyes can see that there’s evil on that ship.”

“It is just a ship,” Kris said, making sure that his voice carried to the men around him.

“Indeed it is, Mister Allen,” came the Captain’s voice from behind him. Kris snapped to attention, spinning to face Forester, but the Captain waved him to relax, “You are dismissed back to your duty, man but if I hear one more word from you, you will not like the consequences.”

The man saluted sloppily and edged away towards the stern.

Kris relaxed a fraction and fell in beside Forester, “Mister Archuleta told you of the entire situation?”

“He did and admirably. His voice hardly shook when he described the deck,” Forester quirked his lip, “What do you think of the situation?”

“Honestly, Captain, I am... uncertain,” Kris admitted. “I would be more comfortable if she were manned by a French crew than this unknown. At least then, we would know and understand what we faced.”

“True, Mister Allen,” the Captain agreed, “But if she is a naval vessel, as she claims, then we must investigate. Do you not agree?”

Kris turned, shaking his head, “Investigate? No, Captain, I do not believe that we should. We are carrying damage, significant damage, and we are low on powder for the guns. If this is a ruse, we may well be sunk. I think that we should mark it’s position and continue on, Captain. We can send a salvage ship out once we return to Charles Towne.” The captain watched him, his eyes measuring but Kris continued, “Captain, I have a bad feeling about this. Something is not right about this whole situation and I think we may well be recorded as fools if we get any closer.”

“We may,” Forester said, “But where is your sense of adventure?”

“Currently behind my sense of self-preservation and my sense of duty, Captain,” Kris answered without skipping a beat.

The Captain said nothing for a while, “Your objections are registered, Lieutenant, but we investigate.”

Kris took a deep breath and saluted, “Aye, sir.”

This was a bad idea. Kris knew that deep in his heart and in his soul but the Captain had made his wishes clear and now it was to Kris to ensure that they were carried out.

“Mister Mitchell, a change of course if you will,” Kris spoke up, “Bring us alongside that ship.”

Mitchell did not verbally acknowledge the order, just changed the heading. Kris, beside the captain, and Archie, who stood just a short distance away, all watched the ship as they drew closer. Kris still had his looking glass and used it now to watch the deck, but there were no changes that he could spot. Everything was as dead and lifeless as ever it was and not even a rat disturbed the grave silence.

“Mister Archuleta,” Kris broke his gaze to look at Archie, “Order the men awake and in place. I want the gun crews ready to fire before we get into firing range.”

Archie bobbed his head and went to see it done.

Kris called Samuel over and the boy came immediately, “Samuel, wake the monkies. We’ll have need of them once the gun crews are in place. Find Mister Cook and tell him that he’s to act as Mister Archuleta’s second on the starboard gun crew.”

Samuel was off and running. Kris watched him go, skidding to a stop at the bottom of the stairs as Mister Cook stepped into his path. Narrowly avoiding a collision, the older man caught Samuel and listened to what he had to say before nodding and disappearing below deck to rouse the men. When Kris turned back to the ship, he found Forester watching him closely.

Kris shrugged, answering the unspoken question, “Rather prepared and foolish than unprepared and facing the Saints embarrassed.”

Forester nodded, leaving Kris to watch the ship. There was something tugging at the back of Kris’ mind, something wrong with the scene before him but he could not place his finger precisely on the item that disturbed him. He scanned the deck, or as much as he was able, moving back and forth over every visible inch. The ship was not old, no more than ten or fifteen years by the design. The gun ports were closed and there were no visible signs of cannon pointed at them. The wind flapped at the corners of the sails and made the ropes sway. The wheel was steady, moving no more than an inch back or forth.

Kris drew his gaze away from the eye glass and looked around _The Hawk_ 's deck, looking not at the men but at the ship herself, trying a comparison between their ship and their potential foe. The wind whipped the sails, puffing them out as it caught on the cloth and pushed them closer to the other ship. Mister Mitchell kept firm hold on the wheel, making corrections as he needed to deal with the ever changing currents. A man monitored the modified capstans, ensuring that the ropes had the play that they needed to keep the rigging solid and tuned to the winds...

Looking across at the ship again, Kris watched it closely. It was at the corner of his mind, so close that he could feel it just waiting to be spotted, this vital difference, the clue that he needed to unravel the mystery.

Around him, the gun crews readied themselves for a battle that the captain seemed sure would not happen. Signs of devotion, crosses and beads were more closely held than ever before, clutched tight in sweaty palms. Men took their station and Archie stood at his side awaiting whatever orders Kris would give, but Kris was taken totally by his feeling of wrongness. That sparking feeling that he’d seen something like this previously, that this was a trick designed to lure them close before the viper struck.

A bell rang and for an instant Kris thought it the four o’clock call but it was not. This was a deeper bell, a larger bell, something more mournful, and Kris grappled with his memories.

“This isn’t right,” the words muttered under his breath, “There is something wrong.”

Forester was staring at him, he could feel the gaze driving through his skull but he was unswayed.

Another look around _The Hawk_.

Another deep toll from the bell.

Another man crossing himself...

And Kris’ mind filled in a blank. It was like a church bell. The same tone, the same timbre but they were miles from land. There was a flash of memory in his mind. Another dark night, darker than this, much darker and Kris standing on the deck of _The Hawk_ while the fog rolled in. But where? But when? Think. He needed to think.

They were closing fast now, almost coming alongside and the memory was just out of reach. Another look through the eye glasses, although he did not need them now but there was something... something...

The sails... The sails were wrong. They were heavy, too heavy. They should be billowing freely but they were not. The rigging too was off. Extra ropes attached at the wrong places, tied fast but dropped down to hang down in front of and behind the sailcloth. To what purpose, Kris had no clue.

The wheel, too, it was wrong. Mitchell was fighting now that he was closing, his job made harder by the presence of the other ship and the distortions it made in the current. He needed to tack, to work the wheel to keep the wind on their side but keep from colliding with the other ship, but their wheel did not move more than an inch or two either way.

“It’s a trap, Captain,” Kris’ words were coloured with a deep felt desperation, “It’s a lure.”

“Your proof?” Forester asked.

“Look to the sails, sir. They do not hang right and are tied in place. They are covering something, the ships true allegiances. And the wheel. It’s tied tight, no play in it. They’re being kept stationary on purpose,” Kris pointed, “The ropes too, sir. Everything about that ship is wrong, designed to make us think that she is stranded. Order us away, sir, before it’s too late.”

The Captain confirmed Kris’ observations with his eyeglass. Men on the deck did not dare to draw breath, but stood fast with loaded guns and burning tapers, ready and eager to blast this damned ship to the depths.

“Helm, break off this course,” Forester bellowed the order.

Mitchell spun the wheel hard, and the ship kicked out. And that must have been the signal, for from the other ship, their unnamed foe, came a blood curdling scream and dead men poured onto the deck. The last puzzle piece clicked into place in Kris’ mind and he stumbled backwards.

“Oh God!” Kris spun on his heel and shouted, “Fire. All guns in range. Fire.”

Smoke rose from the guns as shot after shot flew through the air and collided with both men and ship. On the other ship, the gun ports snapped open and cannon were shoved through, more cannon than Kris had thought possible for a ship of that size. She was a match for _The Hawk_ and wasted no time in making her thoughts known.

“Mister Mitchell, fast as you can,” the Captain ordered.

As Kris watched, men on the other ship lowered the White Ensign and pulled it down. They were unfurling another flag, flapping it free and Kris caught sight of a flash of red. Other men went to the free hanging ropes on the sails and tugged them hard. The white sails fluttered and then started to fall freely to the deck leaving only black in their wake. Black sails.

Kris cursed and ran, jumping the stairs, to land on the main deck beside the gun crew, “Reload and fire at will.” He faced the men on the deck, and saw that they were already loaded with pistols and blades, “They must not get aboard, men. At whatever cost, am I understood?”

The men nodded and pulled their pistols clear, fingers clenching tightly around the butt. Archie was walking back and forth up the gunners’ line shouting orders and encouragements.

It was Hell on deck. Even as _The Hawk_ ’s guns connected and tore through the timber of the other ship, so too did their foe’s guns cut through _The Hawk_ and her men. Kris ducked instinctively as a shot flew past his head, thankfully sailing long and crashing into the sea behind them. It appeared that whatever malaise had been affecting the other ship was now behind them as they swung to follow _The Hawk_.

“Full sails, men,” the Captain ordered, “All of them. We’ll take our chances with the foremast and pray she holds.”

The orders were repeated and men climbed the rigging, setting the sails and manning the lines. And by God they were gaining speed and sailing away from their foe. Kris’ heart leapt with joy, but it was not to last.

A whistle sang out three notes, clear over the chaos and whatever luck they had was cut down dead. One of the men beside him, one of Archie’s gun crew, dropped the lit taper into a bag of gun powder and smiled a sickening smile. Pure white light lit up the night and blinded the men and in that instant, the devil took a hand. Pistols discharged their shot and men fell before they even realised the danger. Kris pulled a pistol and his sword and willed the white lights from in front of his eyes.

The Captain cursed on the mizzen deck and Kris looked in that direction, blinking his eyes to clear them, as the storyteller shot Mitchell clear through the heart, leaving him to slump over the wheel. Another pistol report and the storyteller fell down dead at the Captain’s hand. Kris took a step in that direction, eager to stand with the Captain, but was intercepted by a man, another of their new crew armed with a rusted sword.

Kris raised his sword just in time to parry the heavy blow, and pain swept through him, sickening him to his stomach. His arm was not ready for a fight but Kris could not back down. The man raised his sword overhead again and in that millisecond before it came crashing down, Kris fired his pistol. The man toppled backwards, dead and Kris was already moving on to the next target.

Cries filled the air as men lost life and limb at the blades of the traitorous scum, and Kris was in the midst of it all. He swung his sword with a ferocity that he knew he would regret should he survive. Pain like fire ripped through his arm but he pushed on. Parry. Thrust. Slice. Gentlemanly rules were forgotten here and Kris used every dirty trick he had ever learned to his advantage. No target was out of bounds and some men found themselves unmanned in the fray.

A man, tall and well built, grappled with Archie, trying to drive a dagger through him but Kris struck first, stabbing deep enough that he came but a hairs breath from injuring Archie. The younger man was pale and shaking but there was no time to comfort him. Kris flicked a discarded sword from the deck and tossed it to the boy before continuing on.

When Kris had time to draw breath, he could see the other ship gaining on them but there was nothing to do. A sea of men stood between him and the mizzen deck and fast as he was hacking through them, more seemed to be appearing. He fought as best he could, taking down enemy after enemy until he could no longer hold a sword, but still he fought. Kicking. Punching. He picked up a dagger and used it to neatly fillet men from their souls.

Then all at once, there was a terrible creaking and a shudder racked the ship. Kris looked around, wondering if they had hit a sandbar but they were still moving. Another shudder came, another creak followed by a CRACK.

Too late to do anything but watch it fall, Kris saw the top section of the foremast break off. His mind screamed out that he was in its path but his legs were sluggish and slow to respond. One step, another and he was moving, running and then he wasn’t. Pain exploded down his back and up to his crown and Kris wasn’t sure what had happened. He looked about, but even that small movement was agony. Darkness surrounded his vision, narrowing it to a pinprick.

Their foe was level with them now, and on the foredeck was a single figure dressed in solely white. Tall and imposing, Kris recognised him instantly and knew that his worst nightmare had been realised. God had turned his back, leaving them forgotten on the waves, for the ship before them was and could be no other but _The Madness_.


	5. Under Enemy Flag

  


  
_24th May 1710  
Estimated 90 Leagues from Charles Towne Harbour_   


The stench of vomit filled his nose and Kris felt his stomach wrench in sympathy. He opened an eye but closed it again as light stabbed deep into his brain. The room swam even as he lay there and he gripped hard to the solid surface beneath him. Around him, unfamiliar voices swelled as their discussion grew more heated, and though Kris had to admit to ignorance when it came to the burgeoning field of medicine, they were throwing around words that made him, even through the feeling of confusion that gripped him, feel very uncomfortable.

“Nonsense,” a woman’s voice, Caribbean by the accent, spoke clearly, “You take one step towards that boy and I swear, by Agwé himself, I will see you tossed over the side.”

“But we have to,” the second voice came, a man this time, young, full of vigour and conviction. His accent placed his origin as somewhere around the Indian Ocean, maybe even India itself, lyrical and flowing and not one that Kris had heard in many years. “It is the only way that he will live to see tomorrow. If I do not use the drill...”

“And you call my people barbaric,” the woman's voice was filled with exasperation, and more than a little anger, “He breathes strongly, his heart beats. The boy had a mast drop from on high, straight down across him. His body needs to rest and grow strong again. He does not need you with that... that...” She paused, and Kris strained to keep still, “Did you raid the carpenter’s chest for that or do you usually carry around a hand drill just on chance of finding some poor soul in need of your medicine? Is it even clean or did you steal it straight from the carpenter's hand?”

The other man didn’t answer for the longest time and Kris started to fade back to sleep. It was only willpower that kept him awake. It took several seconds, or perhaps only a few, for Kris to realise that the silence felt heavy, like it was weighed down under a weight of something, likely embarrassment. He knew that his mind was not the sharpest at the moment and he was clinging to each word, trying to wring meaning from it. It was clearing, or starting to but he was not fully aware of his surroundings yet.

“I speak true, I see,” the woman sounded jubilant, crowing almost, “And tell me, oh learned scholar, oh master of the mystical medicines, just how many times have you used such a device to perform your duty? How many times have you practised this art?”

“It’s not a new procedure, madam, and it’s well documented. The surgeon to whom I was apprenticed wrote texts on the subject. He was British. Their medicine is strange but what better to work on one of their own,” the man defended himself, but she would not let him weasel out of giving an answer.

“How many times? The Saints gave your fingers enough to count to ten. Just name the number and be done with it.”

“Myself, and unassisted? None, per say, but I am fluent in the theory.”

“None,” the woman mocked, “None, he says, and still he thinks that I will just stand aside and let him hack asunder my patient’s skull? By the Saints themselves, you are mistaken. One step more, boy, and that drill will surely find a new patient.”

Kris’ hands clenched as nausea passed through him, and he could not help the groan that left his lips. He felt wretched and, although the fog was lifting from his mind, their talk of potential treatment was doing little to help the situation. He tried opening his eyes again, wincing as the light caught him wrong.

“He’s awake,” the woman came over to stand beside him, leaning down until her face was all that he could see. “How are you feeling, boy?”

Kris grimaced, “I feel as if a mast fell on me.”

His voice caught in his throat and he felt the skin on his lip start to split. He pushed at the table on which he lay in a futile attempt to sit up and was surprised to find strong arms helping him on both sides. The room swam around him but settled, allowing him to take in his surroundings. He was handed a cup of water, cool and clear and more than enough to soothe his parched lips. It was easy to identify the persons to whom the voices belonged as there were only two people in the room.

His protector was a black woman of middle age and ample in every aspect. On her face sat a ferociously stern expression that grew ever sterner as she glanced at her companion. To her left stood a gentleman of Indies origin looking resplendent in his royal blue turban and robes. In his hand, hastily hidden behind his back, was the drill in question. Kris swallowed. The device had to measure at least a foot in length and was thick with rust. It was hardly ideal for making holes in wood let alone in a person’s particulars.

The room itself was familiar, and indeed it should be. For just the previous day – or perhaps it was longer than that, Kris did not truly know – he had spent time here being insulted and sewn up. He was in the surgeon’s rooms again but there was neither sight nor sound of Mister Hastings.

Possibilities for the absence swam around his mind, with what Kris hoped to be the most likely floating to the surface. It could have been the case that Hastings had been injured during the battle and with the additional damage that doubtless been inflicted on the ship, perhaps Captain Forester had put to port early, at one of the island nations here about. There were a multitude of colonies and protectorates in the Caribbean that would be willing and eager to provide replacement staff and resources.

But that left the question of why a woman? Kris had no personal objections to a member of the female persuasion on board ship, and he was certainly glad of her presence but such an appointment would be highly unusual unless there were no other option. The British Navy did not stand for any distractions, and women were deemed the most deadly of distractions by the Admiralty. There was the remotest possibility that she was merely a guest on board, securing passage from port to port on board a ship of the line, but Kris did not believe that to be the case. For one, she was a Negress and that alone meant that she could not be a free woman in the eyes of the Navy. She could be a trusted servant to a guest, but that was also unlikely. She did not carry herself as a servant, but rather with all the authority of someone who had every right to be here. Kris had a sinking feeling that the ship was no longer in Naval hands, but denial made him fight it down with every ounce of his being until he heard it confirmed by more than his suspicions.

“Now, boy, look at me,” the woman ordered and Kris could do nothing but obey her, “My name is Maya, and this is Manish,” she added pointing to the Indian gentleman behind her. “Do you know your name, child?”

Kris did, but erred on caution’s side and shook his head causing another wave of nausea to crawl through him.

“No matter, child,” Maya assured him, “It can be difficult at times after you’ve had the wits knocked from you. You’ve been laying here for just shy of four days now. I thought you might not open your eyes again but someone was watching over you.”

“How is the ship?” Kris asked.

It was not the first question that he wanted to ask. No, had he the ability to speak unguarded, he would ask first about the crew but to do such would identify him as an officer and that would probably not bode well for him as it would surely be reported. Asking after the ship was instead a sign of duty and showed a mind ready to grasp what work was necessary. Or so he hoped.

Maya looked to her companion and snorted in laughter, “He’s a sailor true enough. She’s fine. She took a measure of damage during her taking but she’s seaworthy.”

“Now that you’re awake,” Manish cut in, “the Captain will be wanting to speak to you.”

Kris’ fingers tightened on the edge of the table. ‘During her taking’ the woman had said. His heart sank at that. There was no doubt left now. _The Hawk_ was captured by pirates and the Good Lord alone knew what the Captain would do with her. Kris needed more information and he had no time to lose. He needed to learn of his crew, of Forester and his fate. What was the pirate compliment on board? They were no doubt armed and capable but perhaps it was not too late to mount a defence and retake _The Hawk_. Four days? Wars were won and lost in less time than that.

“The Captain?” Kris asked.

“Aye, child,” Maya nodded, “Sent us word to get you ready soon as you woke.”

“Of course,” Kris forced a smile, “But I wonder, would it be possible to wash my face and hands? I feel as if I have been lying face down in a trough for the last week.”

“Of course, child. We’ll send down a lad with it,” Maya nodded, “Take your time. Get your feet under you.”

“Thank you,” Kris said, and meant it sincerely.

Maya and Manish withdrew, their argument starting again as they left the room and Kris breathed out in relief. His first duty was to do as Maya had suggested and stand without assistance, a feat that at the moment seemed to be monumental. Kris did not falter however and resolved to stand unaided. He put first one foot and then the other beneath him and pushed himself up to stand. His legs trembled and threatened to buckle but willpower bolstered them and he stood. His back was a mass of pain and no matter which way he moved, he ached. But thankfully, the wound on his arm seemed to be healing nicely and gave him no more than a nagging sensation.

A knock sounded at the door and Kris turned to face it, still holding the table to steady himself. A man opened it, a man Kris had never seen before with a sword almost as big as Kris. But his eyes were not focused there but rather on the familiar face that came bearing a jug of water and a bowl. He could not help the smile that threatened to tear his face asunder for it was Samuel, hale and hearty and totally uninjured.

“Mister All...” Samuel started but Kris silenced him with a gesture, beckoning him closer.

There were many unfamiliar ears on _The Hawk_ now, bound to be, and any of them could be listening in on this seemingly innocent conversation. Samuel had almost uttered his full name, a sure telltale that would be reported directly to the captain by his guards.

The door closed behind the boy with a force that seemed unnecessary. Samuel set the pitcher and bowl on the nearest surface and ran to Kris, wrapping his arms around him in such a way that Kris had to grip hard to the table to not be bowled over. Tears ran down the boy’s face, and Kris ignored the pain to hold the lad close, offering what comfort he could. In that instant, Kris purposely forgot about any potential eavesdroppers and held Samuel close, being the fatherly figure that the boy needed in these troubled times.

“Are you well, Samuel?” he asked.

Samuel nodded without loosening his grip and Kris felt wetness on his shirt. Holding the boy close and stroking his hair, Kris realised that he was clad only in his shirt, breeches and boots. His naval jacket had been removed and there was no sign of it in the room.

“We was worried, sir,” Samuel’s voice was quiet as he drew back from Kris’ chest, “The men said you were done for.”

“It’ll take more than a mast to carry me off, lad,” Kris joked. “Built of sterner stuff than that, aren’t we?”

Samuel nodded.

“Tell me what happened,” Kris asked, “Everything now, lad, all you know. How are the men? Are they cared for? How is Captain Forester? And the ship, how does she stand?”

Samuel bit his lip and looked like he would rather swim with sharks rather than answer the question, but Kris was not deterred.

“I... I... I’m not...” Samuel started.

“It’s alright,” Kris reassured him, “I already know that the ship has been captured.”

“Oh,” Samuel’s face fell, “It’s been terrible, Mister Allen. We were locked in the hold while they walked around the ship. Mister Cook said they were figuring out what we had on board. Then _he_ came down and started pulling out the officers.”

“He?” Kris asked.

“Captain Lambert, sir,” Samuel answered, “He’s proper scary, so he is. Mister Cook and Captain Forester came up with a plan, so they did. They took your jacket and put it on another man and he pretended to be you so the numbers would add up. They did the same with Mister Archuleta. Mister Cook insisted. You weren’t awake and Captain thought that you’d do better here than...” Samuel’s voice trailed off and he hugged Kris again, “They put them on _The Madness_ , sir. I heard some of the men talk and they don’t think they’re going to make it, said they’d have been better to give them pistols, sir.” Big brown eyes looked up at Kris, “How could they do that, Mister Allen?”

“They’re pirates, Samuel. They have no honour. They steal whatever they need and leave dead in their wake, best to remember that,” Kris said grimly, “What happened next, lad?”

“They brought the men up and the Captain, Captain Lambert, he addressed the men, gave everyone a chance to sign on as crew. We had to sign a piece of paper. Not sure what it said but Mister Cook said that I had to make my mark.”

Kris nodded. Such a thing was not unheard of. No doubt _The Madness_ would be short on crew from the battle and trained hands were hard to find in the ports that they frequented. Lambert must be thinking this a stellar victory indeed.

“There were some that wouldn’t sign. The Captain put them with Captain Forester on _The Madness_ and sent it off,” Samuel’s voice caught. “Mister Cook was hoping to see you before you were dragged before the Captain but they have him working up in the rigging, fixing what they put wrong during the fight.”

“That’s fine, lad,” Kris patted the boy on the shoulder, “You’ve told me all I need to know and everything I’m sure that Mister Cook would have told me. Now, I’m to be brought to the Captain. Could you talk to Cook when next you see him and tell him that I’m aware of what’s required and will act accordingly?”

“Of course, Mister Allen,” Samuel nodded.

“Good lad,” he scruffed the boy’s hair, “Now I need to wash.”

Samuel took that to be a dismissal and knocked on the door. Again the door was opened and Kris had an opportunity to take a proper look at his guards. They were tall, much taller than Kris, and had skin dark as midnight skies. The blades that were tucked into the sashes at their waists were wickedly curved and looked to be sharp enough to cut through anything in its path. The door was closed again once Samuel had passed through it, leaving Kris alone. He washed quickly and perched at the edge of the table to consider the news that he had been given.

The situation was much more dire than he had ever thought. Not only had the ship been captured, but vital members of the crew were missing, cast adrift with only certain death to look forward to. Kris was at a loss what to do. Sighing, he thought hard about his situation and forced himself to stand and take a few steps. He doubted that he was physically capable of leading a rebellion at this precise second. That would have to wait until he had his full wits about him and could move without grimacing. Laying aside that fact, he would need accurate information. Perhaps playing to Cook's ruse would be the best course of action for now. At least it gave him the best chance of surviving a meeting with Captain Lambert.

Kris’ hand scrubbed at the thick stubble on his face before tentatively pressing at the bruises and swellings on his face. He was a mess, and had this vessel still been in Naval hands, he would not have blamed Forester for calling him to task for his appearance. But it was no longer Forester who captained _The Hawk_ , and Kris needed any slight advantage to hide his features from the wolves who had hidden amongst _The Hawk_ ’s crew. Doubtless, they were going to be a valued part of Captain Lambert’s crew and sure to point him out should they recognise him. With luck, his features would stay as they were until he grew a beard full enough to hide his features.

The door swung open, startling Kris such that he almost fell over. He turned to face his visitor and was shocked to stare into ice blue eyes. Captain Lambert. He was not alone but Kris could not tear his eyes away to give his entourage more than a cursory look. Lambert was as tall as Kris remembered, towering over him. No emotion showed in the other man’s kohl-rimmed eyes, no spark of life, and his face was even colder than his eyes if such a thing was possible. Kris shivered. Lambert’s hair fell down in an artful design and threatened to cover an eye. He was still dressed in white, but this close to him, Kris could see the minute imperfections on the fabric. Strange though that was, the flaws reassured Kris. The man was not perfect evil as rumour would have it but just a man, and a man could be overcome.

“You are awake,” Captain Lambert said, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

“Awake, aye,” Kris nodded, “But still, I regret, finding my feet.”

Lambert looked at him, and Kris could almost feel himself being weighed under the gaze of those blue, blue eyes.

“You’ll be pleased to know that your fellow crewmen hold you in no small esteem and protested valiantly when I made to have you removed to _The Madness_ that was,” Lambert spoke easily, moving around the room, “But they were oddly unspecific as to what function you had aboard ship. Perhaps you can enlighten me?”

Kris suspected that vanity would not serve him well here and if he was to hide his true rank – something that did not entirely sit well, but necessary none the less – he would need to mind his words.

“Truth told, sir, I didn’t have any one specific job,” Kris began, stretching the truth but avoiding the outright lie, “I’ve been an extra pair of hands wherever needed since I joined the crew of _The Hawk_. I’ve mended sail cloth, helped repair damage, taken the helm, run out the guns.”

Not a word of falsehood in any of those claims, but neither were they the entire truth.

Lambert’s lips tugged up fractionally at the corner, “An asset for any ship then, would you say?”

“Not for me to say, sir,” Kris said, “But I work my hardest and try to keep out of trouble.”

The Captain’s eyebrow arched, “While I have no doubts about the former claim, I think the latter is wishful thinking on your part. What’s your name, seaman?”

“Kris, Captain Lambert.”

It was not so uncommon a name that Kris worried about the Captain making any connections.

“As I see it, Kris,” Lambert began, “You have two choices here. You can sign on as crew and get a share of any treasures that we uncover. Simply done by signing your name or making your mark at the bottom of this piece of paper,” he snapped his fingers and one of the entourage detached and unrolled a parchment declaring itself to be _‘the Code for The Madness’_. “Elsewise, if you have a problem with making an honest living...” There were snickers coming from behind the Captain, though his expression never changed “...we can set you ashore at the first island we see. Think hard on this, Kris.”

“I have no wish for death,” Kris answered defiantly. “I’ll make my mark.”

He had no desire to be cast ashore on some deserted island with only a one shot pistol and a bottle of rum for company. He strongly believed that no man should be left to such a fate. Just enough rum to get a man drunk enough that he might have the courage to grant himself a quick death. It was no way to end a life, but it was marginally better than the alternative by Pirate’s reckoning – a slow death by starvation or insanity. Kris could not believe that. Not even for an instant. The soul was sacred and any damage done to it by a man’s own hand was a desecration and cause for him to rot for all eternity in Hell. Better temporary discomfort than permanent damnation, in Kris’ opinion. But if the chance came to avoid either, Kris would seize it with both hands.

The parchment was placed on the table and a length of charcoal offered. Kris did not dare show his education to the Pirate Captain and instead of signing his name with his customary flourish, he simply made an ‘X’ like so many before him.

“Welcome to the crew, Kris,” Lambert smiled down at him, but the smile stopped short of the man’s eyes, leaving Kris feeling cold. “Take today to regain your strength and report to the watch commander at first light tomorrow for your duty assignment.”

“Aye, sir,” Kris nodded, “Might I be permitted to walk the deck? The air might help, sir.”

Lambert’s eyes raked over him until eventually he nodded, “You’re crew now, Kris, walk where you will but be advised that if any of the men tell you to turn back, you’d best heed them for your continued safety.”

“Of course, Captain.”

There was another long look and Captain Lambert spun on his heel and left, his entourage following behind him. Relief flooded through Kris as the door was left to close behind the pirates and his knees almost buckled under him. He had expected more questions, more of an interrogation but whether it was arrogance on the part of Captain Lambert, or some other fate intervening, he had been signed on as crew and given the run of the ship. From there, he could start to define a plan of action.

 

 

The breeze was bracing, with a knife edge that set Kris trembling beneath its caress as he stepped out onto the deck. There was a flurry of activity around him as men hurried about their assigned tasks. Kris recognised the crew of _The Hawk_ amongst the amassed pirates, and by rudimentary math realised that his plans of a revolt, a mutiny was bound to be put down in the most bloody and brutal of ways. For each recognisable face there were two that Kris had never seen before and by their dress, it was not hard to fathom their loyalties. The traitors were also visible, working openly with the pirate rabble and it seemed that some held some rather elevated roles on board the ship for they were shouting orders up into the rigging and other men were snapping to and following the orders to the very letter.

Kris made his way tentatively to the railing at the edge of the ship. It was harder than he had imagined it would be and already he was soaked in sweat despite the coolness of the breeze. His fingers closed over the railing and he held fast, trying his utmost to hide his infirmity but he feared that he was failing.

“Hell’s teeth, man, you look like Death just tossed your carcass back from the Deep,” Cale’s voice came from beside him, whisper soft but just loud enough to carry to Kris’ ears.

Kris startled, “Mister Mills...”

Cale cut in, “No need to stand on formality here, we’re all at the bottom of the barrel now. I am no longer boatswain on board but rather just another seaman with a seaman’s duties. I must admit that I have no love of the situation. I climbed out of the rigging for a reason,” he bent his hand to show Kris the blister swelling out his palm, “But needs must as I’m sure you understand.”

Considering for a moment, Kris found that he had to agree, “You are, as ever, correct... Cale.”

It came hard to him to call any man by his given name. The Naval influence was strong and allowed no freedom from propriety. But a minor slip by any of the men, himself included, could see him in danger. Lambert had already separated off the officers and left them adrift in a wrecked craft. Kris had no wish to find himself similarly stranded.

“You man there,” a shout came from the mizzen deck and Kris and Cale both turned to see who spoke, “Have you no job to do?”

“Why is it that small men always feel a deep-seated need to shout?” Cale asked under his breath, “I’d best to duty.”

Kris nodded, “Yes, we will speak later I am sure.”

Cale stepped quickly away, returning to his tasks and Kris was once again alone. Turning his back to the sea, he looked around the deck, using it as cover to study the man who had shouted. He was of average stature to Kris’ eye, and certainly not much shorter than Kris’ own height, but Cale was one of those men who towered above the crowd and looked down on all but Captain Lambert and God Himself.

By his bearing and stature, Kris was given to believe that the man at the mizzen railing was more than likely an officer, and First Officer by his stance. On the surface, for that was all that Kris could judge, he appeared to be an even more dramatic character than the Captain if such a thing were possible. At least that was the impression that he left with Kris, all peacock proud and with a sneer pasted upon his lips.

His clothing was, at first glance, that of a gentleman but the colours and combinations fell far short of what would be acceptable in proper society – a formal naval style coat but designed in puce and with gilt detailing that swept down his thighs over a similarly coloured waistcoat that was appointed in the same manner as the coat, coupled with tight white breeches that ended just above the calf, silken stockings and through the railings, Kris could just make out black leather shoes complete with golden buckles and a heel that would be more fitting on a woman’s shoe. The look was completed by a tri-corn hat with a large white feather trailing behind.

Hand to the Good Lord, Kris found the complete look completely inappropriate for life aboard ship where hard work was necessary and common place. The shoes alone could cause a fatal injury during stormy weather when tumbles and slips were likely on wet decks. But there stood the man, a peacock at the railing and leading the crew in his own manner, that was to say, shouting at them should they deviate from his plan.

Even given that he had only formally met the man for a handful of minutes, Kris found himself thankful that it was not this showpiece who governed the ship, but rather the more reserved and canny Captain Lambert. And that was a thought that would never be breathed where there were ears to hear.

Moving around the ship, Kris felt his legs start to grow strong again and lose that unsteady feeling that had played around the knees. He took the opportunity to meet his men’s eyes and reassure them that he was sound and aware of their situation. Cook and Archie were in the rigging, and resetting some lines by the look of it. Well, it was probably more accurate to say that Cook was resetting the lines and Archie was trying his best not to lose his footing and crash to the deck below.

It was not long until the bell sounded to mark the end of the watch and men filed onto the deck to replace those who had laboured during the day. Kris waited at the side for Cook and Archie to make their way down the nettings. It was an arduous process for Archie and Kris counted that he managed to misstep not less than seven times. Cook was there to catch him at each misstep and Kris could not help but smile at the fast friendship that had developed between the two men.

“Oh, thank the saviour,” were Archie’s first words, “You’re back with us.”

Kris patted Archie on the back, before gathering him into a manly embrace, “Indeed I am, Archie. Indeed I am. Although, I fear, only by the intervention of a rather stubborn woman, for she saved me from her companion who had a fierce desire to see what the inside of my head looked like.”

Archie blanched and his hand flew to cover his mouth, “Surely not!”

Cook was more grounded, “Ah, I thought that I was missing a drill.”

Kris’ jaw dropped a fraction before he caught it, and Cook could not contain the mirth, chuckling quietly, “It is good to see you up and around...” he paused over the name and in the end skipped it entirely.

“Thankfully, they sent down one of the lads with water so that I could make myself presentable before meeting with the Captain,” Kris said carefully, mindful of the crush of men around them as they made their way down to the mess for evening meal, “He was kind enough to provide information on what had happened since I was overcome.”

“Did you happen to catch the lad’s name?” Cook asked, his eyes darting around nervously.

“Samuel,” Kris answered and Cook’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.

“Good lad that one,” Cook nodded, “Got his head screwed on right.”

And thus, Cook was told that Kris knew the situation and the provisions that had been made for him by Captain Forester. To share more information, and to get a more detailed reporting, they would have to find a quieter place to talk, more secure, but for now, the stripped facts were enough.

Kris lined up with the other men with tin plates for food and the cook, a rather rotund fellow, slopped a ladle full of something brown on their plates and moved them on up the line. A measure of rum in a tin cup, a round hard piece of ship’s biscuit and they were served. Finding a place at a table was no chore, as his men shoved up and down the bench to leave a gap just wide enough for both himself and Archie, with the men on the other side splitting apart to fit Cook neatly in.

Kris saw the pirate crew around them and felt their beady eyes upon him, but his men had effectively closed them out, tightening their ranks until Kris was safe and protected amongst them and he was glad. The rabble would listen in, no doubt on that, and if they heard anything of interest, it would be straight to the Captain’s ear before any man could draw breath. They needed to be careful but Kris could not say even that to them without others overhearing, but after but a few moments, Kris found that he did not need to warn them as the men were expertly so already. Their conversation was bland on the surface, but hints and slips hidden amongst the words gave Kris a neat overview of the situation.

“John, here, well, you’ll never believe what ‘e did,” Smithy nudged Kris as he spoke, laughing already as he shared the tale, “He only wen’ and got hisself tangled in t’shrouds at the top of the foremas’ this mornin’. There ‘e was hangin’ ass over ‘ead by an ankle and shoutin’ for ‘is ma. I thought we were abou’ ta get a sudden shower below, ya follow me, but ‘e managed to drag hisself right way up – not that it would have made much diff’rence, dog ugly both ways ya ask me – but ‘e managed to unravel one of t’halliards in his struggles. Took us a good hour to get ‘em put back t’way they should be by rights. But I’m right sure he ain’t gonna forget it again, not after the boatswain gave him six of the best for his troubles. Called him down to t’deck and then sent ‘im back up with nothin’ but a sip of rum in ‘is gullet.”

Kris nodded sagely, taking the information on board. A simple story but now Kris knew that the men had been assigned to stations that they were unfamiliar with which was dangerous but to do that meant that the men that served those functions before were either needed somewhere else or had perished during the encounter. However, even given what was most likely an accident, for no man deliberately hung himself upside down from the rigging if it could be avoided, the punishment had been swift and harsh.

Kris did not know, however, if it was at the Captain’s direction or at the direction of the stuck peacock of an officer that he had seen earlier. If he had to guess, he knew where he would lay money but without proof... Which brought him to a question.

“When I was on deck earlier, taking my constitutional,” Kris joked and the men laughed, “I saw this fellow on the mizzen deck, all dolled up in finery.”

“Ah,” Smithy nodded, his voice dropping to nothing but a whisper as he answered the question, “That be Mister Bell. ‘e serves as First Officer officially, and word ‘as it that he’s the Captain’s left hand. Right cruel bugger ‘e can be and if ‘e takes a disliking to ya, well, ‘e’ll make your life ‘ell. Few around ‘ere have taken to calling him the Gentleman Bastard, but I doubt ‘e’d like to ‘ear that name to his face, ya catch my drift.”

“Who would?” Kris murmured, sharing a smile with the man.

Cook caught his eye, and Kris was back in the main conversation, “When are you to report for duty?”

“At first light. Looks like I get to pull the dawn’s watch,” Kris answered.

“Any idea of your duty yet?”

“I expect the watch commander will soon tell me once I start bothering him,” Kris shook his head, “But you know me lads,” he looked around, “Isn’t a job around that Kris can’t do.”

Eyes widened a fraction as they got the message and a confirmation to use his given name was granted. The men nodded as they considered him.

“True enough, I suppose,” John looked him up and down, “But if ya’ll forgive me for sayin’, best to stay outta t’rigging...” he paused at the name, stuttering over it just a fraction, “K-kris, until you’re sure your ‘ead’s not about to fall off.” He nudged Kris in the side again and smirked, “Too pretty by far to be wanderin’ around without an ‘ead.”

Kris blushed bright red and the men laughed again. Chancing a look at Archie, Kris saw the boy’s shocked expression and glanced around the room. They were drawing some stares from the pirate crew, and Archie in particular, so Kris elbowed him harshly in the side and he snapped his jaw shut.

The evening progressed as expected, laughing and joking until it was time to find their bunks. Kris was not surprised by how little interaction there was between the naval crew of _The Hawk_ and her new pirate crew. Resentment still swam in thick waves around both crews and it carried through to the bedding arrangements. Kris and his crew were consigned to the lower hammocks below decks. Instead of timbers, they found themselves staring into the hammocks above.

He found it difficult to sleep, so used was he to the semi private officers quarters. The night was filled with fetid air and groaning stomachs, and Kris tossed and turned, grabbing sleep in brief snatches. Morning came far too soon, but Kris did not complain, just rose from his hammock and stretched out, working out the kinks from his back. The other men were starting to rise and stir, with others simply turning over, muttering a few curses and letting sleep claim them again.

Walking out onto the deck, Kris cast his eyes out over the sky. Even through the twilight, dark clouds were starting to gather on the horizon and he imagined that he could see the haze of rain over far off waves just catching the first rays of morning. That rain would probably catch them soon and they’d need to call every hand to help out once it did. Tropical storms were foul beasts and to be caught in one could be most dangerous, especially if the ship was carrying damage such as _The Hawk_.

Having a few minutes before full dawn, Kris ducked down into the mess and hastily finished a bowl of lumpy gruel. It was not particularly toothsome but it would keep his stomach filled until proper meals were to be served. Straightening his shirt, Kris made to report to the commander of the watch, a duty made more difficult by his lack of knowledge. A few questions resolved the issue and his own men guided him to the stern, to where a familiar man stood looking out over the waves.

As usual, he was dressed in white. The wind whipped at his hair and stole Kris’ breath away. For all the years that Kris had watched Forester command his ship, never once had he seemed so at home on the deck as this man did. It was as if he were part of the ship, a living extension of the timbers, ropes and sails that made up _The Hawk_ , and Kris was, in that instant, jealous of the ease that the man found here aboard a captured ship.

Kris approached, not cautiously per say but there was an air of apprehension about him. There was no movement from the Captain, just a fixed gaze out over the sea.

Kris was about to cough to get the man’s attention, but Lambert beat him to it, “Good day. How are you feeling this morning? No after affects of your time with the surgeons, I hope?”

Straightening fractionally, Kris replied, “No Captain. I am fit and hale for any work you wish me to undertake.”

Lambert turned to look at him and again that steely blue gaze seemed to weigh him and it was all Kris could do to hold fast under the scrutiny.

“Normally, I would have you in the rigging, but I think this morning you shall be excused that task,” he paused, watching closely for a reaction but Kris gave him none. “Instead, I will assign you to the master of the deck. I am sure that he has some decking that needs scrubbing.” Kris nodded, backing away at the dismissal but it appeared that the Captain wasn’t done with him yet. “I trust such a job is not beneath you,” the corner of the man’s lip tugged up in a cruel smirk as he asked it.

Kris stopped where he was and shook his head, “No sir.”

There was another long pause before the Captain spoke again, “Glad to hear it. Hardly the most glamorous job but needs must.”

“Of course, Captain. I understand,” Kris supplied, “I am happy to serve wherever you direct.”

Lambert smiled, but it was a cold smile, never reaching his eyes, “Did you know, Kris, that when you lie, your nose crinkles just a fraction as if you are smelling the falsehood and find it so utterly distasteful that you cannot bear for it to pass without some comment.”

Kris did not, and in fact doubted the truth of Lambert's observation. A blind man could guess that Kris was not overjoyed at the thought of being on hands and knees with nothing but a bucket of water and a brush for company. He had never been subject to such work due to his rank, except as a punishment.

His first Captain had been a bastard, in every sense of the word, and delighted in having the Ensigns know their proper place on board his ship. Kris had not been exempted from such duties, indeed he’d probably spent most time carrying out tasks that any fresh from port seaman could do owing to his inquisitive nature and natural camaraderie with the men – something that the Captain had frowned on. The tasks that he’d been ordered to do were meant as a humiliation back then and maybe that was the point of this particular exercise now. For Kris to know who was in charge and to know his proper place.

But maybe there was more to it. Captain Lambert had not so much as blinked since his proclamation and Kris wondered if this was a test of character or of something else that only Captain Lambert knew.

And it was this thought that spurred Kris into saying something, “What would you have me say, Captain? That I would prefer other duties? Any man with an ounce of intelligence would know that without my having to say it, and from what I have seen, you are not lacking in that department. But you have assigned me to the master of the deck and to him I shall report. Whatever jobs he assigns me, I shall do without hesitation and I shall do them because that is my duty aboard _The Hawk_.”

“ _The Madness_ ,” Lambert interjected smoothly, and Kris stuttered, “She is to be renamed.”

Every word in Kris’ throat stuck fast and he was left with only one option, to stare at Lambert in disbelief. A proud naval tradition to be wiped out in a single act of vanity to continue a tradition of terror and misdirection. Kris should not have been surprised but he had not even given consideration any potential renaming.

“As you see fit, Captain,” Kris said as evenly as possible.

The Captain watched him for a second longer before turning back to the sea. Kris took that as a dismissal and left to enquire as to his duties. As expected, they were humiliating, but Kris believed that he weathered them well. He scrubbed, and stitched, and cleaned until his back ached and his fingers were numb and still there was more work. It was mindless labour and Kris found his mind free to wander back to Charles Towne and life there. He wondered how Katy fared, and whether she was still under her father’s roof or whether she had taken his offer and gone to live in the Allen family home. He sincerely hoped that she had, life would be so much more bearable for her there, out from under her father’s thumb and belt. He cast out a silent prayer for her and for his mother and asked the Lord’s blessing to keep him safe until he could return to his home.

Kris was on the main deck, scrubbing diligently at a stubborn stain on the wood, when there was a clatter from below decks. He looked up and saw Samuel emerge from the stairs, a look of terror on his face and tears streaming down his face. Pushing himself to his feet, Kris watched as a barrel-chested man attempted to chase after Samuel with little luck.

“Stop that boy. Stop him!”

The men looked around, not at the running boy, but rather at the shouting man, their brains seconds behind the activity as they attempted to fathom what was going on and allowed Samuel the moment he needed to slip by. But it could not last, and Kris saw men reach for the boy as he dodged nimbly through the throng of men. It would only be a matter of time before he was caught for there was nowhere to run. They were on a ship with five main levels and probably a maximum of a hundred rooms and Samuel could not hope to escape forever. Samuel dodged back toward Kris on seeing the familiar face, and made to dive for him, but the outstretched foot of another man sent him flying, toppling face first into the deck and railings.

Kris was by his side in an instant, checking him over and helping him to his feet. The boy had a bloody lip and his cheek was already swelling from where it had collided with the heavy timber, but otherwise he was sound.

“Hold him fast, man,” the bullish man called and Kris’ eyes narrowed.

Kris’ hand rested on Samuel’s arm and he looked down at the boy, trying to reassure him through gestures alone and it seemed to work. He turned to face the man closing in on them.

“Thought ya could run did ya, ya little bugger? Well, I’ll teach you. ‘Tis to the Captain with ya, boy, and ‘e’ll ‘ave yer hide for this,” the man looked past Kris to the boy, reaching out to grab him but Kris stood in his way.

Kris tucked the lad behind him and looked up into the face of the larger man. He could easily have made two or perhaps three of Kris but there were principles at stake and Kris would not surrender Samuel to the man without just cause, and maybe not even then depending on how the man carried himself.

“Good day to you, sir,” Kris greeted the other man cordially, “My name is Kris. I served aboard _The Hawk_ before she was taken. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

The man goggled at Kris, obviously confused by Kris’ greeting.

“Davis.”

Kris nodded as he committed the name to memory, “Might I ask what the commotion is about? What has the lad done?”

“What business is that of yours?” Davis growled.

“The boy has led quite a chase around the deck. Must be something serious for you to be chasing down a slip of a boy such as this.”

Davis made to reach past him, but Kris sidestepped neatly into his path. He could feel Samuel’s hand gripping tightly to the back of his shirt, a slight tremble running through it, and Kris stood his ground.

“That son of a whore almost blew the ship to pieces.”

Around them, there were sharp intakes of breath. The accusation was serious, possibly one of the most serious charges that one could bring aboard a ship, and should it prove true, it would be punished most severely. Dependant on the Captain and the circumstances, Kris had seen men hung from the yard arm for such carelessness. Kris could not believe that Samuel would do anything to endanger the ship. The boy was a scamp, but he was a good lad and careful about his work.

“Such a lad?” Kris asked, his voice rising slightly in an attempt to discredit Davis, “Why he’s no bigger than a pup, man, how could he possibly manage that?”

“I believe that you are asking a question that should, by rights, be mine,” Captain Lambert’s voice carried over the whispers surrounding them easily and the amassed crowd parted to let him approach.

“Apologies, Captain,” Kris inclined his head to greet Lambert.

“Davis,” Lambert looked at the man, “You are bringing formal charges against this boy?”

“Aye, Captain,” Davis sneered down at Kris, and beyond him, to Samuel. “Boy needs to know his place.”

Kris’ eyebrow rose at that but he said nothing. It was an odd choice of words; one that smacked of something other than the charge of endangerment that he was bringing against Samuel.

“Very well then,” Lambert said. He looked around and saw Mister Bell behind him, “Mister Bell, gather the men and we will have a hearing.”

Bell nodded and started calling the men down from the rigging to gather on the deck. It looked as if this was going to be a public hearing, something Kris was not used to. In the navy, they held such meetings behind closed doors and the convened body discussed the charges and heard testimony from the men before considering their decision. It was not a process shared with the men, open for speculation or comment. Nor should it be in Kris’ estimations.

“Hand the boy over,” Lambert ordered.

Kris hesitated, but the look in the Captain’s eyes was like steel, hard and unforgiving and reluctantly Kris stepped aside. Samuel stepped forward with tiny steps and when he looked back at Kris, there was hurt and betrayal in his eyes. Kris’ heart almost broke in that instant but there was nothing he could do.

As men climbed down from the rigging, they gathered in as close as they could to the scene of the hearing, which was to be by the main mast. Some chose to stay on the lower parts of the rigging so that they could see what was going on, but most crowded in as close as they could. Cook, Archie and Cale elbowed in, close as they could, to Kris and he was pleased to see the men from _The Hawk_ all standing together. Their faces were grim, as was Kris’ own, but they watched.

Samuel was held fast by a hefty man, strong and able, and there was no doubt in his mind that this must be the boatswain. Holding Samuel was an easy job given the difference in size between the boy and the man who held him. The man appeared indifferent to the proceedings, simply watching the Captain, but his grip was not painfully tight, just firm, and Kris knew that the man was trying hard not to hurt Samuel any more than he had to and for that, Kris was grateful.

A chair was brought for the Captain and down he sat like a King on his throne. Bell spoke to Davis, their voices low, and though Kris couldn’t hear the words, he could tell that Davis was spinning out his story for the First Officer. Bell nodded and sent Davis back to stand before the Captain as he made his way to stand beside and a fraction behind the Captain’s chair, looking bored already. Davis stood proud before them and seemed to delight in the attention of the men. There was something akin to pride on his face and Kris felt sickened.

There was something deeper to Davis’ claims, Kris was sure of that, but everything depended on the Captain’s questions and whether he pushed Davis to reveal anything more than the salient facts.

“Court is convened,” Bell announced, “Boy, what is your name?”

“Samuel Meriwether,” his voice was scarce above a whisper.

“Samuel Meriwether, you have been charged with breaking article five of the code of _The Madness_ , leaving a flame unattended in the powder store and endangering the ship. These charges are brought by Ethan Davis,” Bell continued, “Davis, what is your testimony?”

Davis puffed out his chest a little more and spoke clearly, “The boy knocked over a lantern in the powder stores and then ran leaving me to extinguish the flames before the powder could catch.”

There was murmuring around him, but Kris was focused on Samuel. The boy’s eyes were downcast and he was shivering in the boatswain’s grip. He had started to cry again, pitiful sobs that rocked his shoulders.

Lambert sat forward in his seat and looked at Samuel, “Is it true, boy? Did you knock over the lantern and then run without pausing to see whether there was any damage?”

“Yes, but...” Samuel squealed in pain as the boatswain squeezed hard on his arm, cutting off any other answer.

“There ya ‘ave it, Captain,” Davis crowed, “From the boy’s own mouth.”

Lambert turned his fierce gaze on Davis and the man seemed to deflate before their eyes. He then turned to face the crew, looking each man in the face until he got to Kris. Locking eyes with Kris, it was almost as if he were daring him to say something, to make a move, but Cook’s hand on his arm kept him steady. Kris chanced a look at his companions, and noted the worried looks on their faces.

He still looked at Kris as he pronounced sentence, “As you have admitted to the charge, there can be only one punishment. The Code that you signed clearly states that should any man endanger the ship through action or inaction that they will receive forty lashes on the bare back and I find no reason to make an exception in this case. Boatswain, secure the boy to the mast and prepare to deliver the punishment.”

Cook’s hand tightened on his arm, but Kris was livid. How dare the man deliver such a sentence? How dare he? And without listening to Samuel’s side of the story. He knew that they were pirates, but this was a level of villainy beyond what he expected. Indeed, the devil himself should be watching his back.

Kris shook his head. Was this meant to serve as a lesson to the crew of _The Hawk_? Because if that was the case, then Captain Lambert would find himself unseated through mutiny. Forty strokes were sufficient to lay men down for weeks at a time, and in some cases, it was fatal. For that punishment to be inflicted on a boy... It was barbaric. It would kill him. And Kris could be silent no longer.

He cast off Cook’s hand and pushed his way through until he was standing in the clearing that had been made, “You call that justice? You call that a fair hearing? You asked Samuel one question and received half an answer, and now you mean to strip him of the skin on his back.”

“The boy answered the relevant question,” Lambert answered, “And stated clearly that he was guilty. What more do I need?”

Kris looked over his crew and he could see their dark expressions. They were not happy with this turn of events and only a hair’s breath away from riot. Kris turned back to face the Captain.

“You have a duty to the men under your command to investigate fully any charges that are laid in front of you,” Kris could hear his men behind him agreeing and pushed on, “Samuel started to say something else but was cut short. The very least you can do is to listen to what he has to say.”

Lambert sighed and sat back in his seat, “As you so clearly think that you can do better, by all means, question the boy and see what petty excuses he makes.”

Kris glared at Lambert but stepped closer to Samuel, “Samuel, what were you going to say?”

Samuel did not look up from the deck and tears still ran down his cheeks.

“You have to let me help you, lad,” Kris soothed him and eventually, Samuel looked up.

“I didn’t mean to, Mist... Kris,” Samuel corrected himself as he spoke and Kris nodded encouragingly.

“That’s okay, Samuel, I know you didn’t. Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Kris coaxed.

Samuel sniffed and blinked through the tears, “I was ordered down to help Mister Davis count out the powder still left in the stores and he...” Samuel broke off, looking down at the deck again, “He... He tried to... and I didn’t want to. I grabbed for anything I could, sir, and then I ran. I didn’t...”

The rest of the sentence was lost to soul deep sobs, and Kris turned to look at Lambert. He was wearing his perfect mask again, but this time Kris thought he could see something in his eyes. Anger, or something darker, but just for a second and then it was gone again.

“It seems as if this man is equally to blame for the situation,” Kris said after a few moments. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that if it were not for the actions of Davis, none of this would have happened. What say you, Captain?”

Lambert said nothing for a moment. The crew around them waited, hardly daring to breathe. Lambert stood gracefully and walked over to where Kris stood until he was directly in front of him.

The corners of his lips pulled up as Lambert smiled, “You make an excellent case, Mister Allen, truly a credit to the navy.”

Kris’ hope caught on the words. Mister Allen. Captain Lambert had called him Mister Allen, not Kris, not any other name but rather by his family name, which could mean only one thing. He was undone. Any subterfuge now was pointless. How long had Lambert known? Since the beginning? From his defence of Samuel? Had he been recognised as soon as they had freed him from beneath the mast or had he had a visitor during his recuperation? Had one of his crew truly turned pirate? In truth, it did not make any iota of difference for no matter the answer, he was unmasked and in danger.

“In the light of the evidence, and the circumstances that have come to the fore,” Captain Lambert spoke clearly, “Samuel is to be released but it shall be noted that any further matters of discipline for which he is found guilty will be met with harsher measures. You have a second chance, boy, do not squander it.” Samuel nodded and the Captain continued, “Mister Davis, however, for dereliction of duty will have his share reduced by one quarter.”

“But...” Davis started.

Lambert cut him off with a look, “When you are on duty aboard my ship, Davis, you are on duty. Your desires almost brought us to harm. Think on that next time when your need is high. And if I hear of this happening again, then I will have the boatswain count eighty strokes on your back, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Captain,” Davis grumbled.

That duty finished with, Lambert turned to Kris and smirked, “I believe you know your way to the ward room, Mister Allen. We have a few matters to discuss.”

Kris looked to Archie and to Cook and saw the worried expressions on their faces. Kris straightened himself and tugged at his cuffs before starting towards the Captain’s ward room. If he was to meet his doom, then by God, he would do it with his head held high. An officer could do no less.


	6. Unreasonable Expectations

  


  


  
_24th May 1710  
Estimated 45 Leagues from Eleuthera_   


Kris stood straight and proud at attention as he waited for Captain Lambert to decide that he was ready to engage him in conversation. At present, the Captain was taken with what looked like a rather hearty bowl of soup, thick and loaded with choice cuts of meat and presented in the finest of patterned china. At his hand sat a fine cut crystal glass filled with wine. It was a setting that could be found in any noble house in the Empire. It sickened Kris to see it wasted on a man such as this. But that said, he had to admit that the Captain’s table manners were impeccable, beyond what Kris had expected.

Minutes passed slowly and eventually the Captain pushed what little remained of his soup aside and turned his gaze on Kris as he spotted the corners of his mouth with a napkin. His gaze was measuring. Had he believed in the supernatural, Kris would have said that the man was trying to uncover the very thoughts from his mind and lay them bare upon the table in front of him.

“What are we to do with you, Lieutenant Allen?” he finally spoke.

Kris raised his chin defiantly, “I am sure you need no input from me on that matter. I would be most surprised if your mind was not already made up. Spare me the theatrics and pass your sentence.”

The Captain’s lip curled into a smile, “As I am sure you are aware, I relish theatrics.”

That was true. Kris had crossed paths with the man twice and both times the man had resorted to petty trickery to scare the men and put them off their stride before the attack. Surely the sign of a man who was not equipped to win a fair fight. But try as he might, Kris could not help the small voice at the back of his mind that stood resolutely against such a sentiment. Captain Lambert was, it could be argued, simply stacking the deck in his favour. But Kris did not wish to be rational at this moment. The man was sitting back on his chair, the chair that Captain Forester had claimed before him, and had his boots up on the table, his hands steepled in front of him.

“I put your fellows adrift on the wreckage of my old ship,” Lambert said calmly, “I regret that if that is the course of action we must take, that you will not have so illustrious an accommodation. All that remains is a rowboat.”

Kris did not rise to the bait, “Much rather a rowboat than a ship that was in such disrepair that there remain no hope of reaching land.”

“Come now, Lieutenant, you cannot mean to tell me that you would like and enjoy being put to sea with no provisions, no charts, nothing but the clothes on your back,” Lambert taunted, “Give me credit for more intelligence than that.”

“I give you credit for nothing, Captain.”

“Your men are well fed and have gotten equal rations since they were brought aboard. They have not been treated cruelly,” he held up a hand as Kris started to speak, “Yes, I know that you think that my methods of discipline leave much to be desired. And yes, I know that you are not just measuring it against today’s activities. Your men have told you of every harsh word and harsher act in an attempt to inform you of their situation. I ask you this, Lieutenant, and perhaps think on it before you answer for a moment. I have one crew, tried and tested, trusted, that have stood at my side in battle, and one that can only be described as hostile and reluctant to mesh with the existing crew. What were my options, other than to show them that their situation had changed and that they were strictly under my command and bound by the rules that I set in place? Tell me, Lieutenant, what would you have done in my place?”

Kris said nothing. He could not, for in principle, he agreed.

“I see by your silence that you have no answer,” the Captain continued, “Allow me then to lay a plan upon the table. Something to ease the way for your men.”

“I’m listening,” Kris said.

“I have noticed that your men, for some reason, have conceived an affection for you,” he kicked his legs off the table and poured a fresh glass of wine, “They have stood vigil over you while you were incapacitated, oh not all of them, but they made sure that you were not without someone to stand over you, ready and waiting for you to wake. Quite loyal, really, considering that you are an officer in the British Navy.”

There was scorn in his voice at that last and Kris’ hackles rose. The British Navy had a long and honourable tradition and Kris was proud of his role in it.

“You say that as if it were something shameful,” Kris’ eyes narrowed as he looked at the other man, “Better a respectable career with the Navy than a life filled with attacking innocent vessels and stripping them of all but the timber.”

“You misunderstand,” Lambert held up a hand, “I say that not to denigrate your position but rather to highlight how different you are from your fellows. I have heard stories of some of the officers on board, a Mister Harte in particular?”

Kris’ hands clenched tight into fists against his will. He unclenched as soon as he realised but it was too late, the Captain had already spotted his reaction.

“I see you share no love of the man,” the smile was back, “Unthinking and quick to anger were some of the nicer descriptors. There were many more but two gentlemen such as ourselves do not need to swap vulgarities to make the point. Do you agree?”

Kris gritted his teeth. His private feelings about a certain Lieutenant who would serve better at the helm of a rowboat than aboard a ship were not Lambert’s business and Kris would not give into this man by siding with him, even over a point that they largely agreed on.

“You said that you had a plan to ease the way for my men?” Kris asked, eager to put this conversation behind him and find his fate.

“So impatient.”

Lambert stood, walking to a bureau and opening it to reveal the rest of the set of cut crystal glasses. He pulled one out and walked back to the table, where he poured out a generous portion of wine and pushed it towards Kris.

“Take a seat, Lieutenant,” Lambert gestured to a seat.

Kris did not move, “I prefer to meet my judgement on my feet.”

“As you wish,” Lambert sighed, “But at the very least, try some of the wine. Secured in trade from a fine French merchant. He said that it was from the vaults of Louis the Great. Lies, of course, but it is passing fair.”

“The plan, sir,” Kris insisted.

The Captain took his seat again, leaning back into the chair and again watching Kris. Kris thought that it was fast becoming the Captain’s favourite pastime. It was a struggle to keep the impatience off his face but he tried. He would give the man no more than he had to.

“Very well,” the Captain said eventually, “I wish for you to place yourself in bond for your men. Should they plot or attempt to mutiny, your life would be forfeit.”

“You cannot mean to...” Kris started.

Lambert cut neatly across him, “Indeed I do. Between your crew’s loyalty and their devotion to you, I find that you are an excellent bargaining piece to get them onside.” He took a sip of his wine, eyes never leaving Kris, “I saw how they rallied around you when you stepped forward to defend the boy. I heard of the bantering below decks last night as they told you everything that had happened since your unfortunate accident. And I did not miss the fact that they crowded in close, giving what morale they could back to you as you walked down towards this room. I am neither blind nor am I dim-witted. You still call them _your_ crew even though you no longer hold any authority on this vessel. You are now a glorified prisoner with the rights and privileges of a prisoner and at my mercy, but at one word from you, I would have a fight on my hands, and one that I would, like as lot, lose a fair size of my men putting down. I cannot allow that to happen.”

Kris allowed himself a small smile. His men had indeed pressed close as he had made his way down to the Captain’s Ward Room, patting him on the back or arms and wishing him luck, telling him to be strong and that they were ready and willing to stand by him should he so much as whisper the word. They had been a strength to him and his heart had been warmed by the outpouring of sentiment. He could certainly see how such a thing could not go unremarked by the Captain but in that admission, he gave Kris a measure of power back and Kris intended to use it.

“And what would you give in return for my bond?” Kris asked.

The Captain’s smile turned cruel, “Your life and the lives of your crew.”

“And if that is not enough?” Kris pressed.

“I could shoot you dead where you stand.”

Kris laughed, a harsh bark, “And have a riot to contend with?”

“You flatter yourself,” Lambert pushed forward, “Killing you outright would not cause a riot, but rather it would steal the backbone from what men you call yours. The instant your body hit the deck, your crew would be broken, and I have no place for broken men. Given our current situation, I need the men fired up and ready to fight. Men who stand around like clods of earth do me no good, but if that is the only option, then I will deal with them.”

“And you think that is reason enough for me to give you my surety?” Kris asked, knowing that the scenario that Lambert laid out was not the whole truth.

His men would not be broken by his death, but rather inflamed, riled up to fever pitch and ready to fight. They were already uncomfortable sharing space with pirates. He knew his men better than this man did and he would defend them.

What the Captain was offering was a parole, a surrender, not unlike that which the Captain of _La Rochelle_ had given to Captain Forester. But there were rules regarding parole, rules and articles that bound naval vessels and even privateers, rules that if broken led to disciplinary procedures. On top of and aside from that, there were gentleman’s rules. The British did not mistreat the French, who in turn did not mistreat the British, but rather provided accommodations until they could be ransomed back to their respective navies.

 _This_? _This_ was different. There were no assurances here except the word of Captain Lambert. Every man on the sea knew that the word of a pirate was not to be trusted.

“Think well upon your answer, Lieutenant Allen,” Captain Lambert pressed him and Kris recognised it for what it was, pushing for an answer, “You hold the lives of your men and yourself in your hands. It would be no great task to order the deaths of you and your men. _The Madness_ has sailed with less hands.”

Kris sneered, “You no longer stand aboard _The Madness_ , Captain Lambert, but aboard His Majesty’s Frigate, _The Hawk_ , and I know her boards better than you think you do.”

“The point still stands,” Lambert brushed his comments aside, “She can sail with a skeleton crew until we make port if needs must. It will not be the hardship you think to recruit a willing crew. There are always those willing to earn a wage.”

“Aye, and condemn their souls. Every man Jack amongst them will swing for their choices.”

“Only if they are caught,” he smirked, “And _The Madness_ has never been caught.”

“You cannot run on luck forever, Captain,” Kris pointed out.

“Neither can you,” Lambert was quick to retort. “Your answer?”

Kris took a deep breath. If it was just his own life in the balance, he would be willing to take his chances. His eyes flicked around the room, searching out a weapon. He was an accomplished swordsman and he could turn his hand to anything should the need arise, but there was precious little in the Ward Room. However, it was not just his life, but the lives of his crew that hung in the balance, thanks to an offhanded comment from Lambert. Kris itched to have a moment to himself to consider his options, but he doubted that the Captain would allow him the necessary time. Indeed, even now he was watching, as if trying to read every flicker of emotion on Kris’ face. Kris schooled his face.

“What are the terms of this bond under which I would be bound?”

“It is simple enough,” Lambert shrugged. “Neither you nor any member of your crew will attempt to ferment mutiny amongst any elements of the joint crew. If it found that this has happened, your life shall be forfeit first, and it shall be a spectacle to be attended by each of your men so that they understand the consequences of their actions.”

Kris’ stomach sickened at the thought of being a display piece, especially at the moment of his death, but it was quite the deterrent.

“The punishment of any crimes of a serious nature, that is those which are specifically mentioned under the Code of the ship, which have been proven to be carried out by members of _The Hawk_ ’s former crew will be transferred to you. Do you understand that point?”

 _Kris did, “If any member of my crew commits and is proven to have committed an act which is mentioned on your Code, I receive the punishment whatever that may be.” Kris paused, thinking for a second, “I would add an amendment, no, two amendments, to that.”_

 _The Captain gestured to him to speak and Kris did, “Firstly, it will be loyal members of _The Hawk_ ’s crew only. Not the men that you so heinously planted amongst our number. They can live and die by their own actions but I will not stand guarantor for them.”_

Lambert thought on this a second and nodded, “That is acceptable. And your second point?”

Kris took a breath, ordering his mind and his words, “I was not impressed by your line of questioning earlier. In future cases, I will stand by my men, or any man that asks for my aid, and act as defence council for them, to insure a fair trial.”

Captain Lambert thought on that a moment, his brow wrinkled.

“If it is to be my back on the line or my life, I insist on a fair hearing,” Kris said.

“Agreed,” Lambert said after a moment. “Although, I should point out that normally my hearings are a fair and open matter.”

Kris blinked, “Then today was what? An aberration? A production for my benefit? Something to draw me from my shell?”

“Something like that,” the Captain admitted, shrugging a shoulder.

“Damn it all, man, and Davis? Did you encourage him to try to force himself on the boy?” Kris was fuming now, burning as hot as the midday sun. “Of all the things I expected of you and your ilk, this just about scrapes the barrel. And you wish to enter into a contract with me and try to assure me of their safety?”

Lambert was on his feet in an instant, fists curled and down on the desk as he rested his weight on them. His face was drawn, tight with a fury of his own. Kris stared him down, glaring into those blue, blue eyes that flashed with the first real emotion that he’d seen there.

“I’ll admit that the hearing was far from just. The boatswain had strict instructions, laid down by me, for the purpose of unmasking you. That part of it is true. It was a carefully played drama designed to get you to reveal yourself, and it worked. But hellfire and damnation,” he slammed a fist down hard on the table, “I would never be party to rape onboard my ship nor condone it in public or private. You heard clearly what I said to Davis. I will lay his back open personally if I catch tell of any incident such as that. And that’s if he’s lucky. If he’s unlucky, the men will find him and gut him before I can ever bring him to a tribunal.”

He paused, closing his eyes and took a deep breath. There was a measure of calm to him when he spoke again, “I did not know the circumstances surrounding the boy’s misdemeanour, nor at that moment did I care. It was a means to an end and now you stand in front of me as you are and not hiding behind a badly devised persona that you could never hope to fit.”

Kris took offence at that charge and was about to press the Captain on the issue when the man answered the question for him.

“Do you honestly think that your ways and manners are those of an enlisted man? Do you think that I cannot tell that you were society born, that any blind man cannot tell?” The man relaxed slightly, letting his fists unclench to rest loosely on the table, “It is in your speech, in your tone, in the way you hold yourself, in every little thing that you do. And were I an idiot, I would still know it because, though your crew covered themselves well when talking to you, they were uncomfortable calling you by your first name. You were not one of them, and every last man knew that.”

Kris sighed, “You are most probably correct in your assessment. But I had to try.”

Lambert nodded, a genuine smile breaking through his features for the first time and Kris found himself liking the effect that it had on the other man. He seemed younger with it, more carefree, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Your next point, Captain?” Kris pushed on, knowing that his men were standing around outside, waiting on his reappearance and he did not have time to spend critiquing the Captain’s look.

Another short silence and it was the Captain’s turn to sigh, “You will address the men personally to inform them of your change in circumstances. You will tell them in no uncertain terms what the constraints are and what the punishments are.”

Kris had intended on that no matter what, but it was good to have the Captain’s permission to address his men and not have to feed the information through in spots and splashes. It made for much easier communications, and no messages were crossed or misinterpreted.

“I agree,” Kris nodded, “May I ask how long you intend to bind me here? Surely this is not going to be a long term arrangement.”

The Captain sat back down and pulled his wine glass to him, “In truth, I do not know how long it will last. Time and tide, Lieutenant, they change with each day and I cannot say how long I will require your company at this juncture.”

Kris thought a minute, “Then I will, reluctantly, settle for a vague statement. You will return us to Carolina at your earliest convenience and allow any man who likes leave the ship, giving him whatever is owing at that time. It will be acknowledged that any man staying will do so of their own will.”

Lambert seemed to play the words over in his mind, “Very well. I will allow that to stand.”

“Good,” Kris spoke, “Are there any other conditions by which you wish me to abide?”

“Those are the main points,” Lambert shook his head, “Any other points can be negotiated as required.”

Kris did not like the sound of that, but he had secured several important points and was feeling quite proud.

“Then it is done,” Lambert smiled.

“Yes,” Kris admitted, “It is done. I would have it in writing. You can write, can you not, or should we call for a scribe?”

Lambert’s eyes flashed with anger again, narrowing dangerously, and Kris bit at the inside of his lip. Perhaps his comments had been unwise. But Kris was adamant, and damn any insult he was making. If he was agreeing to this then, by God, he would have this on paper, signed and dated and something that he could hold the Captain to. There would be no issues with forgetting the arrangement, most especially the last point. That single point would give his men a way back to their homes, their lives and a way out of the hangman’s gallows if it should come to that.

“My word is my bond,” the words were ground out between gritted teeth.

“Trust the word of a common brigand? I think not.”

“Then I shall write up our arrangement and you will sign it, with your signature and not with a mark as you did with the Code,” Lambert was still angry but it had changed from a fiery hot anger to a much cooler flame.

“I shall put my name to it,” Kris agreed, “As shall you.”

“And what of the other officer amongst your crew?” Lambert asked, almost casually off-handed.

Kris blinked, not quite following the change of topic. His mind suddenly snapped into place. Lambert knew about the second substitution. Damn him.

“Other officer? I know of no...” he tried to cover.

Lambert would not listen, cutting across him, “Do not think me a fool. As I have said before I have eyes. The one they call Archie. He takes to the job like a newborn babe takes to running. That is to say, not at all.”

Kris couldn’t let that stand, “He is a good man.”

“I did not question his goodness but rather his skill,” Lambert needled back.

“He has been aboard ship but since Charles Towne, he is still learning,” Kris defended his friend.

“Still learning, aye, top from bottom and sail from rope.” The Captain paused, giving Kris a considering look, “Since Charles Towne you say? And already he has a stalwart protector. Maybe he is more canny than I gave credit for.”

“Mister Archuleta is a fine, upstanding officer and is irrelevant to this discussion,” Kris growled out the words, his voice hard as steel, “Your terms were negotiated with me and with me alone. Mister Archuleta is counted as one of my men. The same rules apply to him as to any seaman under my care and I will have it no other way.”

Captain Lambert looked at him and the corner of his lip drew up just a fraction, “That’s a lot of responsibility that you take on. He’s already been warned twice about carelessness.”

“I read your Code. Carelessness by itself is not a crime,” Kris replied.

“Not by itself, no,” Lambert conceded, “But it is only a matter of time before he missteps seriously.”

“That is your opinion,” Kris pointed out, “The reality of the situation will be quite different I am sure, and quite honestly, it is partially your fault that he is not performing to your expectations.”

That seemed to make the Captain stop and think, “What do you mean?”

“How many times have you seen officers, and British Naval Officers at that, climb up into the rigging? This is outside what he is comfortable with and he is still finding his feet. Given time, I am sure that he will adapt and be as adept as any man amongst the crew,” Kris said.

Lambert crossed to the bureau and looked through the papers stacked on it until he found a few sheets that interested him, pulling them free from where they sat and glanced through them. He tossed them on the table in front of Kris. Kris flicked a glance at the papers and saw that they were the names of his crew, with their jobs listed neatly beside each man’s name.

“Sit,” Lambert instructed, “Sit and cast your eye through that list. I need to know it’s accurate.”

Kris did not sit. He was curious, “Why?”

“You are aware that your men have been doing scut work throughout the ship for the past number of days,” it was not a question but Kris nodded anyway, “My men have been watching them and measuring the skills that they demonstrate in an attempt to discern if the list is correct. And all this with a view to fully integrating them into the crew and assigning them their proper roles.” Lambert walked to his side and looked down at him, “If any man has a rank above that of seaman or any man with specialist skills, I will also need to know what other areas he is qualified in so that he can be assigned there should the position already be occupied.”

Kris was not sure how he felt about that. On the one hand it was good, his men would be returned to their proper roles and doing the jobs that they had signed on for. But the natural hierarchy of Lamberts men in charge, no matter the role or how much experience Kris’ men brought to the table, it was unfair. He caught his thoughts and almost laughed at himself. They were only here for a few weeks. This was not a way of life and Kris was confident that most of the men would come with him when he left the ship. So what did it really matter if they served at their true rank or just marked time doing whatever was assigned to them?

Kris sat, and started reading through the list. The Captain gave him a quill and inkwell, with which to work and moved the glass of wine closer to him. Kris was so absorbed in the work before him that he hardly noticed himself pick up the glass until the wine as on his tongue. Kris’ eyes widened as he tasted it. Lambert had not lied, the wine was quite nice. Full bodied and robust with just the faintest scent of the vineyards where it had been raised.

Opposite him, the Captain was similarly engaged, writing out the agreement that had been struck and sipping at his own glass. Kris chanced a look at the document, and could not help but marvel at the neat, tight script, much tidier than Kris’ own scrawl. It was obvious that the Captain had at one point been an educated gentleman and Kris now wondered what had happened to bring the man crashing from society to end up here, following a life of crime and excess.

Kris looked down again at his list, the nib hovering over names as Kris put faces to the men listed and, neat as he could, scratched down what roles they’d been doing prior to their current roles if they had been recently promoted during their time on _The Hawk_. Most of the list was easy to sort through, but he had three names. Three names and each caused him a flutter of indecision. He took another sip of wine as he thought hard on what to write.

The first was most difficult for it was Archie. He could not say any one single thing, for the boy had not had the time to achieve mastery over any single area aboard the ship. Kris tapped the shaft of the quill against his chin as he considered. All he knew about Archie’s history was that he had been consigned to the Admiralty and been one of those paper-pusher types, away from any chance of action. And while he had no doubt that trained properly the man would have no problems, for now, there was only one thing that he could write and he did not know if that would be acceptable, but he could write nothing else. Scratching out ‘seaman’, Kris hastily scribbled ‘Clerk’.

The next two were simpler and it was a crisis of conscience that had Kris pausing over what to write. The second name on his list of three was Petty Officer David Cook. Kris could not, in good conscience see him demoted to less senior crew. The same with Boatswain Cale Mills. In all his years, Kris had never seen a man fix a crew to task in as efficient a manner as Mister Mills managed. No matter the conditions, no matter the hour, if there was a problem, Mister Mills would attend to it and he did not rest until the job was done and certified as proper and correct. It was a trait that he shared with Mister Cook, although Cook was a quieter man with his own ways of making sure that the right people were informed if there was a problem. There was no better man to take a hand with the men's training.

Kris took a deep breath and put the paper aside, not putting any other role down for either man. The Captain’s eyebrow arched and he reached out to take the papers, scanning through the lists until he saw the three men Kris had troubled over. Strangely, his eye bypassed Archie’s name with little more than a passing glance, but he stayed stuck fast to the other names.

“You appear to have forgotten two names on this list,” he remarked.

Kris steeled himself for another fight, “I did not forget them. They are as I wish them to be.”

“I have an able boatswain already and Mister Wells does not need a second,” Lambert looked at him, putting the papers aside.

“While it is correct that you do indeed have a boatswain,” Kris began, “I would refute the charge that he is able. Though it was on your order, my men will look upon him with disfavour. The crews are not integrated yet and still very much distrust each other. What your boatswain did earlier is a mark against him in their books and, I have to admit, in mine.” Kris sighed, “As you are so fond of saying, I am not blind. From some of the looks that your own men gave the man, they are not overly enamoured with him either. Whether this stems from the activities earlier or from another incident I do not know, but it may just have been the raindrop that broke the yardarm. If you wish him to have a positive reputation, then may I suggest that you have him replaced?”

Lambert considered for a moment, “With your man?”

“My preference would be with Mister Mills, yes,” Kris nodded, “The benefits would be threefold. The first would be that there is less chance of your man being murdered below decks if you had him replaced. The second relates to the first. If you replace him now, it appears that you have, on careful consideration, realised that he is not the most suitable candidate for the job and thus, you have restored yourself in the eyes of both my crew and yours.”

Kris watched as Lambert listened, nodding his head as he thought over Kris’ carefully formed point.

“The third point and the reason that it should be Mister Mills rather than another from your crew is this. Besides his long service in that role and exemplary record, he will signal a true joining of the crews. To promote a member of _The Hawk_ ’s crew so high, without reservation, means that your crew and mine will understand that they are to be linked for the term of our joint partnership. According to my men, there have been slights and comments directed at them by your men. With Mister Mills as Boatswain, this will cut down on the instances of this and forge links between the crews.”

“And Petty Officer Cook?” Lambert enquired.

“In truth?” Kris asked and the Captain nodded encouragingly, leaning forward to listen to the answer, “He is too good to waste doing any one specific role. He has taken watch commands. He has trained new staff in every task aboard ship. He is well versed in all aspects of life at sea and knows _The Hawk_ better than anyone else aboard her.”

Lambert nodded again and took the words on board. He checked over his own parchment before passing it across the table to Kris. Kris read it quickly and then reread it just to make sure that he had not missed anything important. He hadn’t. It was precisely as their discussion had left it, with every ‘i’ dotted and every ‘t’ crossed.

Kris signed it with a flourish – Lieutenant Kristopher Neil Allen – and dated the agreement. He, then, passed it back to the Captain, where he signed his name clearly and affixed his seal to it. Kris sat back in his chair and took a gulp of the wine.

There was a weight on his shoulders now, a pressing weight. He thought back to his first solo watch, to his first mission where he’d been in command, to the first boarding party that he’d led, and was amazed to note that there had been nothing like this weight. Even though he had men’s lives in his hands, what he had felt at those times had been nervous excitement and barely contained energy. This was a very different beast. It was more tangible for one. It was against the natural order. Kris, as an officer, was the one responsible for keeping his men safe, but now his life was in the hands of no less than seventy men. Each of those men had their own conscience and soul and set of morals yet if they stepped out of line, it was on his neck.

Yes, it could be considered that in the past he had placed his life in their hands, but it was never quite like this. _The Hawk_ sailed or sunk based on the skills of his men, but this was more visceral. Maybe it was more personal this time. Maybe it was because he had no hand in the situation. If it was any other situation, he would be there to guide them, to lead them to victory, to direct them on the best course of action, but now, the first he would know of it would be at tribunal. He did not expect Captain Lambert to show mercy given the situation as it stood.

Even with all that considered, he did not regret his choice. He was protecting his men in the only way that he could, and he trusted each and every one of them to adhere to the code and to remember their duties. They were good men, each and every one of them and they would not disappoint him.

The Captain rang a bell and his steward opened the door, stepping inside. It was a young man, maybe twenty or just after it, with a streak of black through his blonde hair. He was about Kris’ height and Kris found himself smiling. In a world where the average man stood shoulder to shoulder with him, he had somehow ended up on a ship where the vast majority of his crewmates towered over him.

“Ah, Tommy,” Lambert looked up, “Ask Brad to gather the crew from _The Hawk_. Lieutenant Allen will address them shortly.”

Tommy nodded and disappeared back out, closing it silently behind him. Kris took a breath and composed himself, trying to think of what he would say to them. If he perhaps kept just to the facts and spent time on the need to work together, adding in the ray of hope at the end that this would not be forever?

Between breaths, or so it seemed, Kris was standing on the Mizzen deck facing his men. The familiar faces looked up at him, waiting for him to speak. Beyond them, he could see the men of _The Madness_ crowding in, curious to hear what he had to say. Behind him, Captain Lambert was speaking quietly to the boatswain and the man did not look happy. His glance flicked to Kris several times and each time Lambert spoke, redirecting the man’s gaze and his anger back to himself. Eventually the man nodded and stepped back.

The speech itself was not particularly memorable, just a brief recitation of their situation, but the silence afterwards must have lasted a full minute or longer before the men all broke out. Everyone had something to say and was intent on saying it at the same time.

Kris held up his hands, calming them down although it took another minute before he had enough quiet for the men to hear him speak, “Men, the important thing about this agreement is that your safety is guaranteed. This is no different than the situation with _La Rochelle_. I have given my word that you will abide by the rules laid down by Captain Lambert and I myself stand the surety. I know that none of you will let me down. If it were any other crew in the Navy, I would not be so confident, but I know you all and I know that you are good men, best to ever sail and I know that you will do me proud by putting aside all your differences and working with our brother crew.” He paused as the men listened, nodding along to his words and appreciating the admiration that Kris felt towards them, “It takes all hands to run a ship like... this.”

He stumbled over the last word, substituting for the name of the ship. Lambert had told him of his intention to rename the ship and Kris could hardly talk of merging the crew while still clinging to the past. They had been captured, and the situation was as good as it could possibly be.

There was still grumbling from the crew, but it had fallen to a reasonable level. Kris looked out over the crowd and sighed, “I know that the situation is not what you signed on for, lads, and I am sure that you all still have questions. Take a few minutes at the end of this meeting, appoint some representatives and I will meet with them and answer your questions,” Kris turned to look at Lambert, “With the Captain’s permission of course.”

Phrased like that, the Captain had no choice but to nod his agreement or risk the goodwill of the men that he had negotiated for.

“In return for my agreement in this matter, and yours,” Kris spoke again, “the Captain is going to return you to your proper roles and responsibilities where possible.”

A cheer rose from the men and Kris smiled as several caps were tossed in the air, with at least one disappearing overboard.

Kris held up his hands, quieting them down again, “I ask you for a little patience in this matter while we sort everything out. I know that no man likes being put to work in roles that they do not normally do or are unfamiliar with, but you have done well, exceptionally so.”

Another cheer went up, but this one without a single hat tossed, and the men seemed to swell with pride.

“And as always, men, if you have need of me, my bunk is always open,” he smiled, thinking of the hammock he’d spent the night in the previous night.

The men laughed a little and what tension remained in the air dissipated. Kris dismissed the men and stepped back from the railing. It had gone better than he had anticipated, but he could easily work out who exactly would be pushed forward to speak to him.

Kris turned to the Captain, “May I use your ward room to meet the men in? They will have questions and it seemed expedient.”

Lambert smirked, and Kris frowned. There was an element to the smirk that Kris could not put his finger on, but it left him feeling unsettled, as if the Captain were laughing at a joke made at his expense. But he nodded and Kris thanked him.

“If that is everything, Captain?”

Lambert nodded but caught himself, “That is everything for now, but I request your presence later for the evening meal. It’s served precisely at six.”

Kris looked down at himself, “I take it that formal dress is not required?”

“I’m sure that one of your men saved your clothing,” Lambert smiled, “Presentable at the very least, if you will.”

“Of course, Captain.”

Kris turned and made his way down the stairs to the main deck. Cook was there to greet him, with Cale, and Archie behind him.

“Where are we meeting, Mister Allen?” he asked.

“The ward room,” Kris answered.

“We’ll be down presently,” Archie looked unusually grim.

Kris inclined his head and stepped below decks into the Ward Room. Once there he closed the door behind him and let himself relax a fraction. The dirty plates had been cleared away, along with the glasses and everything tidied. Walking to the back of the room, Kris looked out the window, watching the waves as he waited.

A knock brought him back to his senses and he bid them enter. His three friends checked that it was just Kris in the room and no others and stepped in. They closed the door behind them and moved to the centre of the room, fidgeting as they looked between each other as they tried to work out how to start.

Kris spared them a smile and took a seat at the table. It was the seat that the Captain had used earlier. Gesturing to the other seats around the table, Kris asked them to sit. Archie sat first and that seemed to be the breaking point that they needed.

“Permission for us all to speak freely, sir,” Cale asked and Kris nodded. “What in the name of all that is holy did you think that you were doing, Lieutenant, agreeing to sign a document that puts your balls in the bracings if any man steps out of line? Were your senses truly knocked out when that mast fell on you?”

Kris watched Cale's cheeks grew red as he spoke from the heart, visibly angry with the decision that Kris had made.

Sighing, Kris leaned forward, his hands resting on the table, “I had my reasons, Cale, believe me in that.”

“And what were these reasons, Mister Allen?” Cook asked.

“First of all,” Kris said quietly, “Can we drop rank here? We are aboard a pirate ship now and naval ranks have little meaning. I am not part of the hierarchy and have no station apart from that which the master of the watch gives me.”

Cale and Cook both started to protest, but it was Archie who spoke first, “That is not entirely true, sir. You have a station. The document you signed is proof of that but for now, perhaps you are correct. Perhaps this would go better if we were not all tripping over salutations. There are important issues to raise.”

“Such as why you agreed to be the whipping boy for half the damned ship,” Cale continued.

Kris held up a hand, “I told you there were reasons and you must trust me on that.”

“Then damn it man, tell us!”

Kris looked at Cale, “When I said that I have secured the safety of every man’s life that is precisely what I meant. Had it been just my own life in the balance, I may not have had the same reaction but Captain Lambert made it clear that it was not just my life.”

“That rat bastard!”

Kris blinked and turned to look at Archie, who was turning pink, his hand across his mouth to prevent any further slippages. He was not the only one shocked. Cale was doing a fine trade catching flies and Cook was looking a little embarrassed. Kris guessed that the phrase had been picked up from him.

“I see you’ve been learning well, Archie,” Kris said carefully.

“Sorry,” he apologised. “It just... um...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kris shrugged it off, “I’m sure that you’ll learn that and many more before your time is done. And at least the sentiment is valid.”

“So, that was the tactic he used?” This came from Cook who was sitting back on his chair, scratching idly at the stubble on his cheeks, “I thought it might be. He’s put you across a barrel, sir, and no doubt. The men aren’t happy about it.” Kris made to speak but Cook shook his head, “They won’t act out, hadn’t planned on it until we had some word on how we were best taking back the ship, but he’s put an end to that. The men... Well, we won’t risk you, sir. No fear on that. But I’m not sure that I trust the Captain to keep by his agreement.”

Cale added his own penny to the discussion, “Neither do I, Lieutenant.”

“Damn it man,” Kris said, exasperated, “You’ve known me since I was a snot nosed ensign and you were a scrawny powder monkey, Cale, can you not bring yourself to call me by my given name?”

“Alright then, Kris,” Cale's tone was harsher than Kris expected, “I still don’t trust the bastard not to find some loophole or something that will keep you under his power. He’s not trustworthy, that one.”

Kris rolled his eyes, “He’s a pirate, Cale, of course he’s not trustworthy. But we must make the best of the situation, and if doing this spares even one of the lads from a trumped up charge designed to show us that they are better than us, then I will call it a job well done. We all have duties aboard, and mine, for now, is to keep the rest of you safe.”

“Kris,” Archie started, his voice slow and calm, “I understand your sentiment, honestly I do, but that’s not a job for any one man to carry out alone. To take sole responsibility...” he trailed off, “it’s insanity.”

“Does a captain do any less when he is forced to hand over his sword, to surrender?” Kris asked, “He gives his parole and, on his word, the men submit to the authority of their captors. I do not see this as different.”

“Begging the pardon of all here,” Cook said, “I think we can take it that we all disagree with Mister Allen’s stance on the matter, but nothing or no one looks to be able to change his mind. So let’s move beyond it. What can we do to help the situation?”

This was a happier topic to Kris’ mind and one that he could deal with.

“I suggest that each of you find three men placed amongst the crew who will keep an eye on the men and report any problems back to you,” the men nodded and Kris pushed on, “I expect discipline to be exemplary. We may be aboard a pirate ship now, but there’s no reason to let ourselves fall to their level. I know that every one of the men is capable of doing a far superior job than any of their crew and I want everyone else to know it too. Any issues, any cases of their crew trying to make times hard for our crew, I want to know about it so that I can take it to the Captain.”

“You think it will do any good,” Archie asked.

Kris nodded, “He holds himself to be a gentleman and he has signed a document that has given me rights over my crew.”

“As you pointed out,” Archie smiled slightly, “he is a pirate.”

“And I am tenacious!”

Cook looked to Cale and Cale nodded ruefully. Kris had often been told that he was quite as stubborn as any team of oxen and in this hellish situation, he would take it as a compliment. Captain Lambert would, like as not, regret his agreement, but Kris would give him no cause to break it. But bending it... That would be another matter.

The rest of the conversation was a lot simpler, with the trio asking after his health and discussing the farce that had been Samuel’s trial.

The sun was just starting to set when someone knocked at the door. Archie stood and opened the door. On the other side stood Tommy. Kris waved him in.

“The Captain wished me to remind you that dinner is served at six bells, sir. I’ve asked the men and they’ve given me what was saved from the officer’s belongings.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” Kris smiled at the man, “Do you have somewhere I may wash?”

“I’ve laid out fresh soap and water in the Captain’s washroom, sir,” he bowed his head, “The clothing is gathered just outside.”

“Thank you, I’ll be there presently.”

Taking the dismissal, Tommy ducked back out.

“Think on me tonight, boys,” Kris joked, “as you eat honest food in the mess. I shall have to be here and pretend to make polite conversation.”

“You need anything, Kris, you shout,” Cale practically ordered him, “we’ll make sure to have a man nearby at all times.”

Kris looked him up and down, not hiding the gesture, “I suppose...” he mused, “Maybe a little.” He tilted his head a little to the side and tapped his chin with a finger, “Yes, definitely a little.”

Cale frowned, “Maybe a little what?”

But Kris wasn’t answering, not yet, and played the appearance of still considering something that the other men could not see, “Oh, just around the hips and the chest.”

Cale looked down at himself, still lost, “What are you talking about, Kris?”

“Oh nothing,” Kris mused idly, “Just... Well, in that instant you reminded me a little of my mother.”

Cale spluttered but said nothing, letting the glare he directed at Kris do his talking for him.

“Good night, Kris,” Archie said, “We will see you below decks later. You can fill us in on any further developments.”

“That I will,” Kris promised.

Cook said nothing for a moment, but then reached back and pulled a small knife from his back pocket. He bounced it in his palm and then held it out to Kris.

“Just in case.”

Kris thought about declining the offer but decided against it. You never knew when something small but sharp would come in useful and given the company he was bound to be keeping, any advantage would be a blessing.

“Thank you.”

Cook shrugged off the words, looking vaguely embarrassed. Kris sent them off to the mess for their own evening meal and made his way to the Captain’s washroom. Outside were three canvas bags, the kind used to hold a sailor’s belongings. Kris looked inside each and was gratified to find his clothes in one of the bags. He pulled his naval jacket from it and flapped it to straighten out the worst of the wrinkles. Holding it up to the light, he decided that it was presentable and went again in search of a clean shirt and breeches. Both were easily found, thankfully.

Kris stepped inside the washroom and pulled the door closed behind him. It took him but a moment to strip and wash his body. He pulled on the breeches quickly, but left his shirt off. He hid the knife in a pocket safely out of sight. He rinsed the cloth in the water and rubbed the soap on it before scrubbing his face and hair clean of the salt, grease and dried sweat that had gathered there.

He stood as a draft caught him between the shoulder blades and he turned to see the Captain standing in the doorway, leaning upon the door jam and watching with a wry smile.

Kris was a little flustered, “Apologies, your man told me that I could wash. I will be only a moment.”

“Take your time,” Lambert instructed, “I ordered that you be presentable. I can hardly complain that you are following my orders.”

Kris turned back to the water, hiding his blush from the other man and washed the soap from his face and hair. He could feel the Captain’s eyes on him the whole time and it was making him a little nervous. Kris finished as quick as he was able and gathered up his clothing. Lambert was still in the doorway when Kris turned to leave and Kris pushed past him with a muttered ‘excuse me’.

He didn’t quite know what came over him, but as he passed Lambert, he chanced to look up and stared into almost black eyes, the clear blue having been almost overtaken by the black of the pupil. Kris' heart was beating faster now and his breath came in short sharp intakes. Whatever it was, it seemed to be affecting the Captain also. Kris broke his gaze and hurried away, not daring to think on a cause to the sudden infirmity.

He ducked into one of the smaller rooms and pulled on his shirt, tucking it into the waistband of the trousers. He flattened down his hair with the palm of his hand and pulled on his coat. When he stepped from the room, he left the momentary flutter behind him. He was once again Lieutenant Kristopher Allen of the British Navy and ready to face whatever the night had to bring.


	7. Uncommon Company

  


  
_24th May 1710  
Estimated 38 Leagues from Eleuthera_   


Fifteen minutes and two glasses of wine to the better, and Kris not only understood where Mister Bell’s muttered nickname came from, but Kris agreed with it and had several more besides – none of which would be politely received in mixed company. The man picked and poked at every word out of Kris’ mouth and Kris was edging closer to saying something unforgivable. He’d taken to using his wineglass to prevent himself from retorting even though he knew that it was possibly not the best of plans.

The captain sat back in his chair, his eyes following the cut and thrust of the conversation and smiling as the sharp barbs were traded back and forth. He had dressed for dinner and was wearing a dark grey vest finished with silver thread that glimmered in the candlelight. Over that, he wore a proper coat but kept it unbuttoned. It was also dark grey, but to the point of blackness. His ever-present earrings caught the light as well, constantly drawing Kris’ eyes. Mister Bell had also changed, but his garish colours were no source of interest to Kris.

“If you had wanted a pet, Adam, then we could have easily stopped in some port along the way and picked you up something,” Mister Bell sat down heavily in his seat and gestured wildly with his glass, not seaming to care if the wine slopped over the rim, “A parrot, perhaps? It would go with the image. But no. No. A parrot would be too common, too expected. A cockatiel instead then? With magnificent plumage? Something to create quite the spectacle.”

Mister Bell laughed at his own musings, and Kris was disgusted to see the captain’s eyes twinkling with amusement. It seemed to Kris as if Mister Bell had been indulging earlier in the evening, but when he had been introduced to Kris, Kris had not smelt anything on his breath. If this was simply the man’s manner, then Kris would be only too glad to avoid him.

Tommy pushed open the door with his rear, his hands occupied with a tureen. Kris could smell the stew as soon as Tommy drew close and it smelled wonderful. Rich meaty smells rose and made his mouth water. The tureen was placed on the table and Tommy disappeared back out the door. He was back a moment later with bread, cut into slices. Plates and bowls were already on the table and were of the same set that Kris had seen Lambert use earlier. The silverware was just that, silverware, and each was engraved with images of ships in full sail. Beautiful really and definitely not of the sort to be found on a pirate ship.

Once Tommy had brought everything required for the evening meal, he took the lid off the tureen and started to serve a thick stew out into each bowl. And of course, Mister Bell could not let the occasion pass without a few words.

“Shouldn’t that be the job of your new pet, Adam?”

“Brad...” the word was drawn out and Kris noticed that some of the amusement had disappeared from the captain’s eyes.

“What? What else can he possibly do on board? May as well put him to use,” Bell pushed, “Tommy, leave that. I’m sure that you’ve got more important things to do. Let Allen here do the serving. Do the man good, get him over being an uppity officer. He probably hasn’t done honest work since before he signed on the line. And like as not, probably did nothing before then either.” His gaze turned to Kris and a vicious sneer cut across his features, “Well, what are you waiting for, boy?”

“Brad!” the captain’s voice was sharp now, and there was no amusement left.

Kris’ eyes narrowed, “I serve Queen Anne and the Admiralty and no others. Mind your tongue or I shall mind it for you.”

Bell brushed aside Kris’ words, “And endanger the lives of your men? I think not. Even if you were not impotent, or rather your threats were, you would still need the aid of an army to overcome me. I have seen you swish and flick your blade and was rather unimpressed. Perhaps we can spar,” Bell attempted to sooth Kris as one would a child, before his tone turned vicious again, “once you’ve completed some training. I don’t engage unskilled opponents.”

“And I do not engage with anyone who cannot hold his own in a battle of wits.”

Lambert’s hand struck the table hard enough to make the silverware bounce and Kris broke off his next retort immediately, turning to look at the Captain. Bell opened his mouth to say something but a single look from the captain had him shutting his mouth sharply.

“Brad, you go too far,” the Captain’s voice was slow and measured, “Lieutenant Allen is here by my direction and will be a guest aboard the ship until I decide otherwise. Whatever tasks I choose to assign to him will be for my consideration alone. Apologise to the Lieutenant or eat with the men.”

“You cannot mean to...” Bell sat forward in his seat, his jaw dropped, “Adam...”

But the Captain’s face did not change, did not give away any emotion. Bell grabbed the napkin from his lap and threw it on the table as he rose.

“I find I have lost my appetite.”

Turning on his heel, Bell left the room, slamming the door behind him. Kris was slightly stunned at the suddenness of the departure and turned back to Lambert. The man’s eyes were on the door and he thought that he saw the man give the smallest of sighs before turning his attention to Kris. His eyes were not cold, but only a hair’s breath away.

“Brad is my second aboard this ship and you would do well to remember that. Consider this fair warning. Should you decide to bait him, I will not stand in the way of any punishments he sees fit to inflict. He has no love of the Navy, I’ll tell you now but he will treat your men fairly while they are under his care.”

Kris said nothing at this, but he was sure that it was written all over his face that he did not entirely believe what Lambert said for he made no effort to hide it. Since he had first seen the man, Mister Bell had not covered himself in honour. Snide comments, harsh punishments and a blind eye turned to anything his crew might do. It would take more than the Captain’s word to convince him that the man was indeed capable of being more than a second rate bully.

“Believe me or not,” Lambert shrugged, “I would greatly appreciate if you could endeavour to get along with Brad, at least in public view.”

Kris considered it a moment, “Given the unification of our crews, it would be a bad sign for the men if the petty squabblings of one man...”

“Two men,” Lambert interjected.

Kris glared at him, “... caused friction between the crews. But I trust that you will also reiterate the point to him.”

“I will,” Lambert nodded, “Now, please try some of Tommy’s stew.”

Kris pulled one of the bowls towards him, and claimed a couple of pieces of bread. Dipping the bread into the stew, he watched as it soaked up the juices. Tasting it, it was all Kris could do not to moan. It was wonderful. Perfectly seasoned, with large chunks of beef and vegetables suspended in a fine broth. He would have said that it reminded him of home, but it didn’t. His mother thought that they were much better than having stew would signify but when they were in port, Kris would take some meals at the local tavern where the speciality was a stew not quite as fine as this one.

Conversation stopped as Kris ate hungrily and refilling his bowl when he had finished. Lambert sat back, watching him as he ate his second helping at a much slower pace. He had that enigmatic half smile on his face again.

Dinner was over all too soon and the captain pulled out a bottle of brandy and two glasses. Kris accepted graciously and sat back letting the spirits warm as he swirled them around the glass. Tommy came in to collect the dinnerware and what few crumbs remained.

“That was exquisite, Tommy,” Kris said sincerely, “Thank you.”

Tommy flushed at the praise but smiled in thanks, disappearing from the room quickly, leaving Kris alone with the captain again. Neither man spoke, but the silence was not stained. Indeed, it was rather companionable. It reminded Kris of sitting at home, comfortable in the large leather armchairs either side of the fire, with his father in the other seat.

Kris allowed himself to think back on the events of the day. It had been a rather eventful afternoon and evening. He’d gone from deckhand back to officer and entered into willing bondage for the sake of his crew. He’d argued with the captain and accused him of all manner of foul acts but still he sat here, sipping brandy from an expensive glass and enjoying good food and adequate company.

Polite small talk about the weather and the currents made up the greater part of the conversation and once the bell rang for ten, Kris drained the dregs of his brandy and asked to be excused for the evening. Lambert nodded and Kris took his leave, making his way directly down to the large room where the men slept.

“’e’s comin’,” a voice announced as Kris approached.

There was a scurrying sound on the other side of the archway and he could hear Cook’s voice ordering the men to their places. Kris frowned as he ducked his head on the way in.

“’Ten-shun!” Cook ordered and the men snapped to.

Kris smiled and waved them to ease, looking around. Where there had been nothing but hammocks, there was now what amounted to several clothes lines, hung with lengths of sail cloth tossed over them.

“Sir,” Cook stepped forward, “The men, well, we’ve been having a couple of thoughts and well, we don’t feel it’s right that you should have to share with the rest of the men being an officer and doing what you’re doing for us, least not in a normal hammock, so we, well, we sectioned off one of the hammocks for your use, Mister Allen.”

Kris was stunned. He most certainly did not require a separate hammock and while it was true that he did not sleep well the previous evening, he was sure that he could have adapted to the situation given time. But that said, he would not insult the men’s efforts by sharing that sentiment with them. He was touched deep to the core of his being that they’d done this and when he spoke, his thanks were profound.

“I’m truly honoured, men. Thank you,” Kris pushed back the sail cloth to reveal a single hammock and below it a small and crude table and stool. “Where on earth did you manage to find the materials?”

Cook’s cheeks flushed, as did the cheeks of the men, “It’s all been about the ship, if you know where to look.”

“It’s wonderful, men. Truly wonderful. Thank you.”

The men were relieved that Kris seemed to like it and slowly dispersed to climb into their own hammocks and grab some much needed sleep. Only Archie and Cook remained, hovering nervously. Kris huffed a laugh and beckoned them inside the sectioned off quarters. Kris stopped, looking around but no one was near. He stepped through and pulled closed the heavy cloth partition.

“You have questions,” Kris said, his voice low.

It was a statement rather than a question but both men nodded.

“Then let me attempt to answer them,” Kris climbed into the hammock, using it as a seat. “Dinner was a formal affair and attended by myself, the captain and Mister Bell. Mister Bell was dismissed rather early on after provoking a fight that threatened to escalate. I got my own warning from the captain and an admonishment to try to present a united front with Mister Bell. I’ll admit that the captain had a point. It’s all well and good signing a piece of paper whose goal is to unite the crews, but if the officers are at each other’s throats, agreeing as I did this afternoon will be for nothing. Remember that both of you, and tell the men to be respectful of the officers. All of them.”

Cook nodded, and Archie looked appalled that Kris was making the point so plainly. Kris smiled at that. For Archie, it appeared to be inconceivable that the men might not respect the officers. Kris could forgive him the naïveté. He was still new aboard ship and had yet to loosen his hold on the official set of rules and guidelines that came with every new commission. He wouldn’t be surprised if Archie didn’t sleep with it tucked neatly under his pillow, absorbing the contents while he slept.

An unspoken conversation happened then, between Archie and Cook, full and complete with head nods and shrugged shoulders. Eventually Archie held up a hand to Cook and said "All right."

“So he didn’t...” Archie looked uncomfortable for a moment and Kris could practically see the thoughts being forced into alignment before he continued, “...try anything?”

Kris shook his head, “No. There were no more discussions about terms or surrenders.”

Archie frowned for a second, flicking a glance at Cook and back again, opening his mouth to say something but Cook’s hand on his arm and a sharp shake of his head stopped him dead in his tracks. Kris had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity as to the contents of this silent conversation, but no explanations seemed to be forthcoming and tiredness was not so much sneaking up on him as demanding his unconditional surrender.

“I’m sure we’ll speak more of this in the morning, gentlemen,” Kris said, just about holding back a yawn. “I find that the day’s events have left me feeling rather worn.”

“Of course, Mister Allen,” Archie nodded and stepped out past the sail cloth curtain, pulling Cook with him. “Good night, sir.”

“And good morrow,” Kris smiled as Archie fixed the curtain, closing it tight.

He toed off his boots and let them fall to the deck below with a double thump. As he lay back on his hammock, he let his eyes close. Just beyond his sail cloth partition, he could hear hissed voices, muffled greatly by the barrier, but he could make out Archie as his voice rose.

“Mister Allen wouldn’t do that. He has a fiancée back in Charles Towne. He’s not, well...” There was a pause, “he’s just not.”

Kris puzzled over what Archie could mean, but he drifted off to sleep before he could make sense of the statement.

Sleep was easy that night and Kris did not wake until a hand pressed down hard on his mouth. It was greasy and covered in filth. Kris bit at it and clawed, trying to pull it away even as he struggled to find his wits. He knew that there was something wrong, but with nothing but darkness visible around him, he could not fathom what was happening. Kris was struggling to breathe. His hands were seized and held firm. The hammock was twisted into a shroud and pulled tight. Only his head was free but it did him little good. He thrashed his head side to side in a vain attempt to free himself from whoever was crushing his mouth. He bit at the hand and was rewarded with a yelp but the hand stayed in place, pressing down harder now and tightening on his jaw until he couldn’t move. He felt the cloth over his eyes slip a little but not enough to give him light in the darkness.

It wasn’t until he heard a voice whisper in his ear that the puzzle was solved.

“This is for the boatswain.”

It was a whisper and little else and Kris could not put a face to the voice, but it had to be a crewman of _The Madness_.

Kris tried to calm himself, to breathe as normally as he could but fear coursed through him regardless. He didn’t know what these men had planned but doubtless, he would not enjoy it.

The first blow was shocking. A powerful blow hit him just above the kidneys. Had he not been restrained, it would have doubled him over. As it was, he bit back a whimper, refusing to give them the satisfaction of making him cry out. The second blow was no less severe and directed to the same area. Kris almost cried out, or tried to, but the hand over his mouth thankfully killed the sound. The next blows fell in as a flurry, hitting back, side and legs with abandon.

Kris fought as best he was able, fingers tearing at the cloth but to no avail. He was held fast. He felt one of his nails tear but the pain was insignificant in comparison to the frenzied blows of his attackers. Sharp corners impacted deeply and Kris knew that they were not constrained to just their God-given weapons. No, they had fashioned sturdier weapons that that. He knew from experience that it was not knives or pistols or any such traditional weapons. No, they would have grabbed whatever was about and used that, soap hidden in stockings, pieces of wood fashioned into clubs, anything that could be used to inflict damage.

Kris fought on, struggling within his confines in an attempt to reach the knife that Cook had given him earlier. He was almost undone when one shot landed directly on his hand and he heard the crack loud even in his current situation. The men around him cheered and the knowledge that they’d broken something seemed to spur them on.

This was not how gentlemen fought. This was not how honourable men settled disputes and with all his heart, Kris wished that they had never run across _The Madness_ and the scum aboard her.

There were new cries around him now, new cries and familiar voices and Kris praised the Lord on High that his crew were there. The blows tapered off and Kris scrambled to free himself of the trappings. The man holding Kris’ silence yelped as Kris finally managed to bite down hard on the flesh. The hand pulled back and air, glorious air! Kris could breathe again, deep lungfuls, which he regretted the instant after. Pain racked through him, sharp and severe and Kris had to fight off a wave of nausea. He turned on his side, afraid on the consequences of a rolling stomach when he was on his back and a fresh blow caught him in the kidney. Kris arched off the hammock but too far and the floor was rapidly rising to meet him.

Nausea again and it was all Kris could do to stay still until it passed. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes. Blots of colour sailed in front of his eyes and just as he thought he could start to make out more, an impact to his side sent him flying. Another crack resonated around the deck and Kris cradled his chest against the pain.

He could see now. Davis, a vicious smile straining his features, was preparing to stamp down on him. Kris acted without thinking, twisting out of the way of the descending boot and reaching up to strike out at it in a feeble attempt to topple the other man. Pain lanced though him at the action and he heard a scream, realising only moments later that it had been torn from his own throat. Every muscle ached, and movement left him gasping for breath but he would not give in, would not relent. He couldn’t, not while his men were fighting to reach him.

An accidental misstep by one of his men was dismissed painfully as Kris bit his lip. Davis was approaching again, a sneer pasted on his face. He held the stool in his hand and was brandishing it in Kris’ direction. Kris manoeuvred on to his stomach and tried to crawl away, cradling his broken hand to his chest as he did. He could feel tears running down his cheeks as his gorge rose dangerously high.

He was almost to the bulkhead.

One more effort.

One more...

Kris clung to the timber latticework with his good hand and started to pull himself up.

The stool crashed down hard on his back, driving Kris into the wood. Kris felt his lip split and blood ran freely down his chin and onto his shirt. Somehow, Kris was more annoyed by that than anything else. His fingers clawed at the timber, dragging himself up by willpower and determination alone, for his arm felt loose and stringy as one-penny rope. The other was useless, powerless to do more than hurt and Kris prayed for the pain to ease. His senses spun like a compass in a storm and it was all Kris could do not to disgorge himself right there, and he clung on desperately.

His breaths were short and shallow now and black dots danced around his vision. Davis was engaged with someone whose name Kris should know but didn’t. The room swam around him with typhonic speed and Kris felt dizzy. He was sure that his fingers would fuse with the bulkhead, so tight was he clinging, but he dared not let go.

Davis cast his opponent aside and started to approach Kris again. He was muttering something, or may have been shouting it, Kris was not sure as the words made no sense. The actions however were a different matter. He recognised the drawn back fist well enough and saw it start its descent towards his face. Kris braced, closing his eyes. The world tilted and Kris gripped ever tighter on the bulkhead.

Moments passed, then seconds with minutes following on behind them and still the blow did not fall. Kris chanced a look and had to force himself to focus. A peacock stood in front of him, a brightly coloured saviour, and Kris couldn’t put a name to him. Davis was gone. Somewhere. Away. And Kris sagged a little, gritting his teeth.

A sharp pain echoed across his face as the peacock slapped him. Kris blinked and blinked again and finally focused enough to make out the details of the other man. He was... Kris could taste the name on his tongue but yet he couldn’t say it.

Another slap and lightning struck.

Bell. This was Bell. The first mate.

Kris frowned, not quite understanding why Bell was there. He remembered Lambert talking to him and then coming back and sleeping. Even Archie’s odd comments floated past before his knees buckled. Bell rushed forward to catch him, but the man was no stronger than Kris and almost buckled under Kris’ weight. There were more hands now, holding him up and helping him to stand.

“Take him to the ward room,” Bell ordered, shifting out from under foot as Kris’ men took up the strain. “The rest of you stay here. If I see one hair from any of you on deck, I’ll personally see to it that you’re tossed overboard.”

There were murmurs of agreement and Kris was sure that Bell was following along behind. Kris tapped one of the men on the shoulder, something which took herculean effort given his current situation and the man stopped. It took the other man a second to notice and Kris was jarred painfully.

Bell sidestepped the men asking what the problem was and it took Kris a couple of tries to force the words past his rapidly swelling lip.

“Thank you.”

Still the word came out garbled.

Bell looked at him for an interminably long minute, “I didn’t do it for you.”

Caught in the miasma of emotions that he was, Kris recognised his own sadness for what it was, genuine regret that the man did not accept the sentiment for what it was: a heartfelt admission that Kris was indebted to him for his part in saving his life, for he was sure that was what the other man had done. Surely, his own men could fight like demons but none had ended the fight as effectively as Mister Bell had. Kris was not sure what the other man had done, but one minute there had been fighting and the next, there was nothing but silence.

The journey to the ward room was excruciating agony as Kris was jostled, carefully as they could manage, up stairs and along the deck and back to the wardroom. Kris resorted to a litany of curse words that would have shocked the devil himself as he was carried, amusing the men that they passed until they saw him in the light. With the speed at which their faces turned ashen, Kris imagined that he must be quite the sight. He was starting to feel faint again but endeavoured to keep his wits this time by pressing down hard on the broken joint in his hand. The pain flashed through him and jolted him back to sanity and beyond.

He was aware that Bell banged soundly on the captain’s door to rouse him, claiming an emergency, but Kris was more invested in being put down in one of the captain’s seats. It was hard, and not at all cushioned, but now that he was no longer being carried by two men of different heights, it was ecstasy.

The captain rushed into the room, half asleep and half clothed, skidding to a stop as he saw Kris in front of him. He ducked out of the room again, and Kris could hear him calling for Tommy before he re-entered the ward room. Kris was the subject of scrutiny for a moment before he started calling for clean cloths and heated water. Kris’ men ran to take care of that, leaving him with just the captain and Bell.

Tommy appeared before the questioning could begin and Kris was glad. He wasn’t feeling up to talking at that moment.

“Which surgeon is to be woken tonight?” the captain asked, hunkering down a little until he was at Kris’ height.

“Manish, Captain,” Tommy answered with no hesitation.

“Wake him, get him here immediately.”

Kris shook his head and almost passed out as the room swam again. He groaned at his stupidity.

“Maya,” he managed to croak out.

“What matter is it who is woken?” Bell threw in from beside him.

Kris reached out for Lambert’s hand, at no inconsiderable personal cost, and looked up into concerned blue eyes, “Maya.”

Lambert hesitated a moment longer before nodding, “Wake Maya. Tell her to bring her bag down with her, she has a patient.”

“Aye, captain,” Tommy bobbed his head and disappeared out through the door.

It wasn’t but a moment, or at least it didn’t seem like it, before Kris’ men were back with the cloths and the water. Lambert took them and gently started to clean the dry and drying blood from Kris’ face. He winced at each touch and the captain apologised for each hurt he caused.

“You men go stand outside the door,” Lambert ordered and the men seemed torn, “I’ll call you if I have need, now get out!”

The men moved quickly then, leaving Kris with the Captain and pulled the door closed behind them. But the Captain was not watching them, but rather focused on the wounded man before him.

“What happened, Brad?” he asked after he had most of it cleaned.

Bell sighed and took a seat, “The facts or my gut feeling?”

“Let’s start with the facts,” the captain ordered.

“One of the lads came running up and practically told the entire ocean that there was a fight below deck, that was the first I knew of it,” Bell shook his head, “It was well underway when I got down there with some of the watch. Punches were flying and everything else as well. I’ll say this for those navy boys, they can fight well enough.”

Kris beamed with pride, but all that accomplished was a freshly split scab on his lip and Lambert was forced to hold a cloth in place or else his work would quickly be undone.

“Davis was whaling on Allen here, had worked himself into a right rage. Boy was barely holding himself upright against the timbers. I managed to dissuade Davis from his activities and had him hauled down to the brig.” Bell considered for a moment, “You were right, Adam, a naval vessel was a good choice. I hadn’t even realised that I’d missed having a brig.”

“Should I ask how you dissuaded him?” Adam asked with an eyebrow arched.

“Darling, you know me,” Bell buffed his nails on his finely tailored coat and smirked, “I never kiss and tell.”

Lambert laughed at that, “And your gut feeling?”

“It’s like I told you earlier,” Bell sighed, “our men were never going to be happy to see one of _The Hawk_ ’s crew bumped up the ladder and one of theirs bumped down. He’s lucky that they went for an object lesson rather than a quick solution.”

Lucky, Kris thought. If this was lucky, he didn’t want to feel unlucky.

“This better be...” Maya’s words trailed off as she saw Kris and while she didn’t go pale as others did, she did mutter something under her breath.

Kris didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the scene in front of him was nothing like it. Instead of her usual brightly patterned dress and the scarf holding her hair back, she was wearing a simple white shift nightdress that went all the way to the deck with a shawl over it and her hair was long and plaited the entire length of her back.

“This is getting to be entirely too common, Mister Allen,” she said as she put her bag down on the table, opening it and pulling out vials, pots and jars of foul smelling concoctions. She looked around the men in the room, “There are entirely too many idle hands in here. I will need two of you to stay and help me. The rest of you, I’m sure have work to do.”

Bell climbed to his feet, sighing heavily, “Well, as much fun as this is, I have a watch that needs my attention and a situation to resolve below decks. Big and Bigger, you come with me.”

The men hesitated for a second but Kris nodded once and they left, flanking Bell as he disappeared. Tommy closed over the door.

“My word, child, you’ve been through some wars haven’t you?” Maya breathed as she looked him over. “Your face is a mess, and I can only guess that the rest of you isn’t much better. Get him out of those clothes boys. I need to see what damage has been done.”

Kris was sure that he was blushing. Surely there were rules against this sort of thing? Perhaps he would have been better with Manish, even given the man's deviant love of carpenter’s tools. Surely it would have been worth it to preserve his dignity. He’d never been undressed in front of a lady before, not since he was deemed old enough to wash himself.

Lambert lifted him carefully, and to be fair, it hurt less than had the efforts of Kris’ crewmates’. Tommy took a knife to Kris' shirt and stripped it cleanly. The breeches came next and Kris found himself glad that he’d not done what so many men did and shucked his undergarments in the hot summer weather. He did still drop his hands to his crotch to cover his already covered unmentionables.

“Oh, child,” Maya breathed out, shaking her head with a sad look on her face as she traced the bruises on his body.

That same look was reflected on the captain’s face along with a darker anger that twisted his features in a most unforgiving way.

“With any other patient, I would ask where it hurts, but I can see well enough that the answer would be everywhere.”

With that, she started her examinations, poking and prodding at every bruise and blemish to mar his skin. Kris for the most part tried to stay as still as he could, but when she pressed a particularly sore spot, Kris gave an involuntary yelp and cringed away from her fingers, which were too sharp by far. She got to his head after a while and Kris winced as she found a particularly tender spot.

“Quite a knot, you have there, boy,” Maya breathed and Kris tried to think how he could have gotten it but came up blank.

Sections of his memories concerning the attack were blank or covered in a haze of pain.

“By my guess, Captain,” Maya said eventually, “He’s had the wits knocked from him again and his ribs will need mending. There’s at least three breaks there. His hand is broken and will need to be set and splinted. He’s tender all over but only time will tell if that’s going to be a problem.” She sighed, “I’ll set the bones and strap him up tonight but we’ll need to wait and see on everything else. Tommy, I’m trusting his feeding to you, do you hear me? I’ll leave you tinctures that you’re to add to water for the next few days. And he’ll need something rubbed on for the bruises.”

The captain nodded, as did Tommy and she went to work. She gave Kris a stick and he looked at it blankly for a second before he realised what it was for and put it between his teeth. Maya gestured to the captain and Kris felt hands on his shoulders, holding him tight as Maya set hellfire loose on his hand. The pain seemed to travel all the way up his arm to meld with the rest of the pains into one horrific mess of hurt. His vision greyed out for a second but then he was back and Maya was tying a piece of wood to his hand and bandaging it tightly.

Next came his ribs. Again, she strapped the bandages tightly, testing them again and again as she worked. She held out a vial of something that could only have been cooked in the pits of Hell. It was rank. Horrid. Kris downed it anyway. It burned all the way to his stomach and Kris coughed once, clutching at his ribs as he did. But miracle of miracles, it started to feel better. Everything.

He couldn’t focus on anything. Not the captain, not Tommy and not even Maya who seemed to be talking but Kris couldn’t make sense of a single thing. He felt good. Really good. Like everything had been lifted off his shoulders and now he was light enough to fly! But hands kept him in his seat, firm hands and though Kris attempted to fight against them, he was quickly undone and found himself drifting to sleep.

Morning, however, was a different story and broke with torment unrivalled. Pain blocked everything else from his mind and his body screamed for him to curl into a ball but he no sooner had he tried that than it protested in the most emphatic terms. He burned with the agony and every movement tore the breath from his body. He straightened with effort and held himself stock still as it faded to a dull roar. He counted the moments through the thumping of his blood through his ears and slowly opened his eyes.

Crystal blue eyes watched him from beside the bed and Kris blinked, his mind trying desperately to recall the events of the previous evening. The beating, the torture at the hands of the pirates, and pain, so much pain and yes, the removal to the Captain’s cabin. There were still blanks there, moments he couldn’t recall but the overarching memory was there and that was all that Kris could take at this moment.

“Good morning, Mister Allen,” Captain Lambert’s voice neatly cut the silence. “I had wondered if you were ever to wake.”

“My apologies, Captain,” Kris ground out.

He reached out to try to sit himself up in the bunk but his head swam dangerously. He grappled for a steady spot but strong hands held him firm and the Captain was right beside him.

“No apologies necessary,” the Captain assured him, “I was merely worried. It was quite a beating that you took last evening.”

Worried about mutiny more like, Kris thought to himself unkindly. He looked up into Lambert’s face and was surprised at what he saw there, surprised and chastened. Dark circles stood out in stark relief on the Captain’s face and his clothing was stained with splashes of blood, Kris’ blood. He was the most unkempt that Kris had seen him.

“I must express _my_ apologies to you, Mister Allen. Had I caught the rumour that the crew were planning such an unfriendly welcome, I could have prevented this situation. From what Brad has found from the men involved, it was a plot cooked up below decks and hatched with a moment’s notice,” he sighed heavily, “The men are being held in the brig and I am giving them nothing but prisoner’s rations until their hearing.”

“And when do you plan to hold the hearing?” Kris asked.

“I was waiting until you were with us again,” Lambert admitted, “Along with being the unfortunate victim, you are also the main witness.”

Kris laughed bitterly, “Witness? I rather doubt I can add much to the proceedings, Captain, I saw nothing nor heard much.”

“Be that as it may, I thought that you would like to face your attackers and show them that they have not gotten the best of you,” Lambert smiled.

Kris thought for a second and grudgingly nodded, “I would like that. Indeed, it would be appreciated.”

Kris looked beyond Lambert to the window and saw twilight paint the sky in wonderful colours. Dawn, Kris suspected but after his last flutter with unconsciousness, he thought it best to check, “How long have I been here?”

“It’s shortly after six bells,” the Captain answered.

Kris sat back, relieved. Shortly after six in the morning. He’d been here a little more than six hours, maybe seven. With only those few hours gone, nothing much could have happened with his crew. There would be nothing to fear from reprisals or hot-headed vengeance.

“Breakfast will be served shortly,” Kris mused, “Perhaps with a little help, I could make it to the mess.”

The Captain smirked slightly, the corner of his lip twisting up, “Six bells in the evening, Mister Allen, not the morning. I’m not sure what Maya gave you, but you’ve been asleep for most of the day. Snoring prettily, too.”

Kris flushed, “Lieutenants in Her Majesties Navy do not snore.”

Lambert laughed a full-bellied hearty laugh, “You’re serving on a pirate ship now, Lieutenant.”

Kris glared as well as he was able and refused to take further part in this discussion, diverting their attention back to the time, “The men, they will be taking dinner shortly. I should go down, reassure them that I’m still breathing.”

“Your men, they’ve called in every couple of hours to check on you and relayed their findings back to your crew,” Lambert reassured him, “Good men,” he admitted. “They’ve headed off some of the men bound for evening the score.”

His men? The Captain must mean Cale, Cook and Archie. No others would have the position among the crew necessary to diffuse the situation and stifle the powder keg of emotion that must be going through the men. Kris allowed himself a smile. It was typical of Cale, and indeed Cook, to keep the men in line. Even though the crew had no great regard for Archie yet, his being an officer and allied with Cook could lend weight to whatever words Cale or Cook put to the men. To have good friends amongst the officer corps, and to have said friends themselves connected to the Admiralty could only ease the way once they returned to a civilised port.

“Still, it would be good for the men to see me rather than receive reports from their fellows,” Kris looked down at his hand and the splint that adorned it, flexing his fingers a little and wincing at the results.

“I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to exert yourself like that,” the Captain smiled, “More than my life is worth.” Kris frowned, puzzled and Lambert obliged, “Maya would string me up from the yardarm and, while you are undoubtedly an interesting man, no man is interesting enough to cross my surgeon for. And speaking of...” Lambert rose to his feet smoothly and went to the door, pulling it open and calling for Tommy. He looked back, “Instructions, you understand.”

Kris shrugged a shoulder, or tried to, his breath catching as he did, “I shall be with you in a moment.”

He struggled to sit, thankful that this time the room stayed where it was supposed to be. Lambert was by his side in a second, helping him to sit up.

“You needn’t sit up. Perhaps it would be best if you were to stay here. I was ordered by the one person on board who even I dare not disregard and her orders clearly state that you are not to move as much as a hair out of this bed.”

Kris sighed, “Maya.”

“Maya,” Lambert confirmed, “And she’s as unpredictable as a Bahaman typhoon. Had you chosen to call for Manish, this would have been much easier. Much more tractable, you understand.”

“And prone to stealing the tools from the carpenter’s box,” Kris snapped his mouth closed.

His guard was down, and he was joking with Lambert, the captain of this pirate vessel, the master of the men who beat him bloody last night. What was he thinking? Was he thinking? Had the wits finally left his head last night.

But Lambert was smiling and gesturing for him to continue, so Kris did, hesitantly sharing the story, “I was almost an experiment. And while I do not object to his practices, I do not wish to experience them firsthand. Not without a bevy of qualified surgeons standing by.” Kris sat a little straighter, frowning, “Tell me, if I’m not being presumptuous, why does he not practice his own brand of medicine? I’ve seen men from India perform fantastical works on my travels by merely laying their hands on a person or placing a flower upon the brow. Why does he attempt European medicine instead?”

The Captain seemed to debate with himself for a moment, but eventually, he seemed to decide to answer the question, “It is, I think, that his own parents were killed while he was still a child and he was taken in by the local missionary. He was, as it is my understanding, a man of God and of science. He placed great import upon learning and gave Manish every book at his disposal, many of which were medical textbooks and quite inappropriate for a child. However, the local men about the area all went to their own medicine men and no white man around would deign to allow Manish to even touch them nor allow him to be present while his master conducted his examinations.”

Lambert paused for a second, his eyes going distant, “Manish, for all his exuberance, is quite knowledgeable in his field, but lacks practice. Maya, on the other hand, has experience but knows only her own brand of mysticism – herbs, tonics, and needlework. The two together make a formidable team and one that I am proud to have on board, even if I find Maya to be quite possibly the most terrifying woman to ever stand on board a ship or to walk dry land. Why, I think that on a bad day, she could order the sea herself to turn tail and run.”

Kris laughed at that, though the breath caught in his throat and turned into a racking cough that sent bolts of pain straight through him. Lambert was at his side in an instant and holding him steady as he coughed.

Tommy pushed the door open hesitantly, looking around the frame and smiling at Kris as he edged in. In his hands was a tray loaded with soup and what looked to Kris like a hundred tiny bottles of varying different colours. Kris was breathing hard, catching his breath as the Captain pulled a small table closer and Tommy laid out the tray. Kris was startled by the array of bottles in front of him. And he was certain that Maya had left precise instructions as to how many drops of each he was to take and that there would be hell to pay if Kris refused.

“You do not mean to befuddle my mind again, do you?” Kris asked, looking between the Captain and Tommy.

“I do not believe that any of these are the same as the concoction she gave you last night,” Tommy answered, looking over the vials. “Most are extracts from plants and flowers noted for their healing properties. There are some for pain and to promote healing. And an unguent to be rubbed on but Maya is planning on bringing that once you are awake.”

Kris paled slightly, “Why do I have the feeling that the beating was the least of my problems?”

The Captain laughed as he pulled the bowl of soup closer, “Finish all this and I will see what I can do to head off Maya.”

Kris shared the laugh and tucked in. It was difficult to bend down to the soup and spoon it up as far as his lips. His hand, the unsplinted one, shook terribly and the strain was immense, but he would not allow himself to break down in front of the Captain or Tommy. He had been feeding himself since he was old enough to hold a spoon and damned if he was going to beg for help now. Tommy had the grace to avert his eyes, mixing together whatever drink Maya had ordered him to down, but the Captain watched every move, his hands almost darting forward when Kris faltered, a deep frown etched on his forehead.

A knock came at the door. Tommy looked to the Captain, who nodded and Tommy opened the door a fraction.

“Boy, you will get out this doorway and let me see my patient if you know what’s good for you,” Maya’s voice came through the crack.

Kris chanced a glance at the Captain and saw him cringe.

“And how is your damned fool self today?” Maya asked as soon as she stepped into the room. “Didn’t I tell you to call me as soon as he cracked an eye open? Who knows what damage he’s done to himself since then?”

“I’m as well as can be expected,” Kris gritted his teeth as Maya took the spoon from his hand and pushed him back. “Or at least, nothing further has happened in the few hours since I last saw you.”

Maya’s eyes narrowed at his words, and Kris cringed back. Possibly it had not been the wisest choice of words, but honestly, he was grateful for her help, but he had a mother back in Charles Towne who did an admirable job. All he needed was for someone to patch him up well enough to carry on his duties. And he knew that he was being a cad but since _The Hawk_ left port, he’d spent more time in the surgeon’s rooms or incapacitated than he had actually performing the hundred and one necessary tasks on board.

“You should be eating,” Maya declared.

Kris looked at the spoon still clutched in her hand and back at his soup. He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, wincing as he stretched his ribs.

“He was eating well when he had his spoon, Maya,” Lambert rolled his eyes, “Perhaps if you returned it, he could continue.”

“You’re not too old to go over my knee, Adam-boy,” Maya warned him, waving the spoon at him.

Adam snatched the spoon from her hand and handed it back to Kris, winking as he did. Kris couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. He turned back to the soup before Maya caught sight of the smirk and did his best to hide behind the bowl.

The soup was rich and filled with meaty flavours and distracted Kris from the battle raging around him. It was a war of wills and Kris was honestly not sure who would emerge the victor. In the end, it was Tommy who diffused the situation with a cough as he held out the water glass to Kris. It was a deep brown colour and, to Kris’ mind, the most unappealing beverage that Kris had ever had the misfortune to experience. But he downed it and quickly followed it with another mouthful of soup. It was foul enough to taint the taste of the soup and Kris grimaced. He belched as the mixture hit his stomach and his gorge rose dangerously, threatening to unburden itself all over the Captain’s bed. Kris clapped a hand to his mouth and forced himself to take deep breaths until the sensation passed. All eyes in the cabin were fixed solely on him and Kris couldn’t help the blush that rose on his cheeks.

“An interesting mix,” Kris forced a smile, “But once was enough, I believe.”

Maya’s lips drew tightly together and Kris could sense the protest forming when the Captain spoke, “Perhaps not that particular mixture.”

Kris glared at him for his words. Lambert simply shrugged and Kris decided not to press the issue. He was sure that with a little persuading, he could get Tommy on side. The lad seemed nice enough, quite and almost shy. It shouldn’t take much to convince him that Kris was perfectly fine without the vile tinctures that Maya was forcing upon him.

“I should like to visit the mess this evening,” Kris spoke quietly but his voice cut through the room.

He could feel the disapproval from Maya, matched in equal measures by the Captain.

“If I do not make the effort to see my men this evening, then good influences or no, I fear that they will start to formulate a plan of action that would be far from beneficial,” Kris sighed, “I have a duty to them and they need to see that I still breathe, although with effort. They will not settle until they see me. And while I can see that you are of a mind to tie me to the bed, ma’am, it would be best for everyone concerned if I do this tonight rather than in the morning.”

He sighed, “I am aware that the trip down will not be the easiest, but with a little help, I am sure that I can make it from here to there unmolested. And at least it will be a short trip from there to my bunk. I must confess that even though I have done nothing but sleep this day, I still find myself tired.” Captain Lambert made to say something but Kris cut neatly across him, “I assure you that I shall report for duties tomorrow morning, though I cannot promise that I will be able for a full watch.”

The captain looked to Maya, shaking his head at Kris’ words. Kris frowned. Why did the Captain appear to be taken aback and why was he looking to Maya? Surely, he could not expect him to work the full watch in his condition? Kris ducked his head, sighing to himself.

“I apologise, Captain, I should not have said that. I beg your indulgence. I am not shirking my responsibilities, or at least I do not mean to, but perhaps if I was allowed a short break to rest for a few minutes should I feel faint.”

“You will not be on deck tomorrow, Mister Allen,” the Captain’s voice was soft, almost soothing, “And you will not be sleeping below decks tonight. You will sleep here.” Kris opened his mouth to speak but the Captain held up a hand. “It is an entirely practical concern.”

Kris did not exactly believe that to be true. There was something in the man’s eyes, something that Kris could not put his finger on, but it made Kris question the veracity of his words.

“Getting in and out of a hammock would aggravate your condition, it would be best if you had a cot until your ribs can no longer be used as jigsaw pieces,” the Captain smiled, “And you are excused duty until Maya clears you.”

“And I don’t mean to do that any time soon, boy, so don’t think I will,” Maya added, her arms folding below her bosom.

“I do not require special treatment.”

“Nor are you getting it,” the Captain looked affronted, “Contrary to the myths put about by the Navy, not all Pirates are cruel and uncaring, especially in relation to their crew. I know Pirate Captains who insist that men who are unable to work are denied anything but the proverbial bread and water, and only the most meagre of helpings of either. In my experience, all that results from such draconian measures is dead men. Every man on my crew, from powder monkey to officer, is afforded as much time as is needed to bring them back to full health. Every man on board relies on their fellows. Having a man not at his full capacities in the rigging just asks for accidents, and in my years of experience I have found that more often than not, more men are lost trying to save the one man who should not have been in the rigging in the first instance.”

Kris considered for a moment and found the Captain’s words to be true. There had been several times when Naval commanders had forced men to undertake tasks which they were unable to perform, and often against the surgeon’s advice, thinking them to be faking. A simple slip sent men crashing through the rigging. Their crewmates, wanting to save their friends, reached out and unfortunately found themselves crashing down to join their mates on the deck, broken and dead.

“You signed an accord with me,” the Captain pushed on, “and it is in my best interest to ensure your safety.”

The captain's answer left Kris dissatisfied though for what reason he could not tell. It was hardly as if he expected Lambert to take a personal interest in his wellbeing.

“For what happened last night to happen after I guaranteed your safety...” Lambert trailed off and made no intention of continuing that though. Instead he neatly changed the subject, “Tommy, do you have Lieutenant Allen’s uniform?”

Tommy nodded, “Washed and pressed, Captain.”

Kris blinked. He hadn’t quite expected that. Not even he, in his most ambitious managed to press his uniform jacket. He usually just hung it over the back of a chair and prayed that it would not wrinkle too badly, although it was a prayer helped by the sheer weight of the fabric.

“Bring my shaving set and the usual accoutrements. I’m sure that the Lieutenant would prefer to greet his men clean shaven and presentable.”

Kris glanced down at his hand contained within the split. While the Captain was correct, it was not going to be an easy task to shave himself. Tommy left the room quietly, closing the door behind him and Kris was left with Maya and Captain Lambert.

“You cannot mean to go along with this,” Maya was not impressed with the Captain, “He should be resting, not... not... With his luck, he will trip on the first stair and break his neck and all the herbs in my bag will do nothing for him.” She hemmed, “I suppose I could supply prayers for his funeral rites.”

“It was Tommy who left the room, not I,” Kris interjected.

He was a little hurt at her opinion. He was not Archie, tripping over every stray rope. With that said, for his entire acquaintance with Maya, he had been under her watchful eye. It had been an uncommonly bad run of luck.

“I am not the one who has been trying to knock all sense out of their head,” Maya turned on him, her hands on her hips and Kris drew back.

“Had I been given a choice in the matter, ma’am, I assure you, I would have chosen another pastime.”

“For your question, Maya,” Lambert said smoothly, “Yes, I mean to go along with this. Mister Allen...” the Captain paused and smiled at him, “...Kris has a duty to his men and for the continued harmony aboard this ship, I feel that the decision is the correct one and one that I would make if the positions were reversed.”

“Then damned fools the pair of you,” Maya said and strode from the room leaving Kris to stare after her.


	8. Strange Bedfellows and Harsh Punishments

  


  
_25th May 1710  
Estimated 31 Leagues from Eleuthera_   


Kris watched her go and looked to the Captain.

“She’ll be back shortly,” Lambert assured him, “Just taking a walk around the deck and cursing all men.”

“Should I ask?”

“Best not to,” Lambert shook his head.

Tommy ducked back into the room holding a jug of water in a bowl and carrying a leather case under his arm. Kris smiled. He was looking forward to being clean shaven again. He ran a hand over his chin and winced as he felt the stubble prickle his fingers. The mechanics of the process were vexing him. With one hand splinted, he was at a distinct disadvantage. But he persevered anyway. He paid no mind to either the Captain or Tommy as he unsnapped the catches, balancing the set against his chest as he did, and opened the set, trying to keep it from overbalancing and spilling everything on the floor.

It was beautiful. The brush was made of the finest badger bristles with an ivory handle. The razor, a straight edged folding blade, came tucked away in a carved ivory handle. The finest details showed ships locked in battle, tiny cannonballs caught in mid flight. The winds were personified into full-cheeked cherubs, blowing their breath into the sails of one of the ships, notably, the one flying pirate colours. The whetstone was encased in an ivory case with similar design.

Kris whipped the lather into a fine froth and slathered it onto his face. He poured a little water into the bowl and washed out the bristles. Flicking open the blade, Kris contemplated how best to achieve his goal. For best results, the skin needed to be stretched. He tried, but all that happened was that the end of the splint scraped off the lather.

There was a laugh from beside him and the Captain reached out, stopping his hand just above the blade, “Allow me?”

Kris looked up at him and then down at his arm and he offered the blade to Lambert. The Captain neatly plucked the blade from his hand.

“Sit back,” he instructed.

There was a moment of hesitation. Having a pirate hold a blade at his throat was not entirely a comforting thought but there did not appear to be any malice on his face. Kris sat back on the bunk and tilted his head back, baring his neck.

The Captain’s strokes were sure and steady, with only a slight tugging on the skin. Kris closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax into it. He knew it was finished when a warmed cloth was applied to his face.

Tommy held a mirror and Kris checked himself. There was not even a ghost of a mark on his skin and, barring the bruises, he was back to his usual self. Already, he felt his shoulders straighten, and then hunch back as his ribs protested.

“A fine job, Captain,” Kris remarked.

“I just held a blade at your throat,” Lambert smiled, “I believe we can put the formality aside. My name is Adam.”

Kris tried the name on for size, “Adam. I shall endeavour to remember that.”

Kris felt a weight of propriety sitting on his shoulders. The captain had granted him the use of his Christian name and politeness dictated that he return the gesture.

“And mine is Kristopher, Kris,” Kris didn’t meet the man’s eyes.

The Captain nodded at that and Tommy held up Kris’ jacket and the Captain helped him to manoeuvre into it. It was impossible to even attempt to slide the splint down the arm of the jacket, so Kris simply wore it over his shoulder. He straightened it as best he could and nodded.

“I believe I’m ready to see my men. With your permission, Captain?”

“Adam, please,” Adam looked down at him, “And yes, of course. I will help you.”

Kris nodded again and gritted his teeth as he attempted to stand. The Captain, Adam was at his arm, helping him and Kris was glad of the support. His head swam slightly but stabilized quickly. He clutched his arm tightly to his ribs, clutching at his shirt as pain racked through him at every step.

“Perhaps...” the Captain began.

Kris cut him off, insisting, “I must.”

Adam sighed but his grip tightened. Kris took a deep breath and continued on. It took every ounce of will to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving, but he did. Out of the Captain’s cabin and into the ward room. Out of the wardroom and into the corridor. The steps up to the deck were Hell, but he persevered, stopping every few steps to catch his breath. Dizziness followed him, but the strong hands helping him grounded him and kept pushing him to take just one more step.

“A moment,” Kris panted, “To catch. My breath.”

Adam obliged, and Kris clung to him. He counted slowly and timed his breathing. One, two, three, four, in. One, two, three, four, out. After a minute, he was ready to move again. Adam stepped with him and Kris let him, right up until he was outside the mess. From inside, he could hear the raucous laughter of the men.

“I should go alone,” Kris released Adam’s arm and stiffened his spine.

Adam stepped back, allowing Kris his moment and he was thankful for that. No fuss, no protestations, just a watchful eye.

Kris stepped into the mess and moved slowly over to the tables. The men were sitting around, talking low. There was none of the gaiety that Kris associated with an evening meal, no laughing or joking and there was a clear line of division between the two crews. They glared back and forth at each other, distrustful and angry.

“Mister Allen?” It was Samuel that first noticed, “Look, it’s Mister Allen!”

And the boy came barrelling towards him. Kris braced himself as Samuel flung himself at Kris, stopping only when he remembered that Kris was injured. Kris held out his arm and pulled the boy into a hug. The boy was off again a second later, pushing back the men who came forward to greet him and making sure that Kris had a pathway to one of the benches. The men chattered around him, welcoming him back.

“Shut up, men. Let him talk.”

That was Cook. The men settled down and Kris took a seat at one of the tables. The men crowded round him, Samuel sitting beside him, ready to jump up if Kris should need anything and beyond them, Kris could see that Adam still stood by the doorway, leaning casually and watching.

“I understand that you have been checking up on me and for that, I am extremely grateful,” Kris started. “I find it extremely heartening to have a crew that bonds together in times like these. I was worried that some of you would have chosen the lower road and started planning retaliation, but I should have known better.”

He looked around the gathered men. Several of them looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze, and Kris knew that he’d chosen the right words. Despite the best efforts that of Cook and Cale, the men were plotting and planning something, a justice removed from any that the Captain might dispense.

“As I understand it, the Captain is planning to hold his hearing tomorrow during first watch,” Kris looked to Adam who nodded, “I trust that you are all going to attend.”

There were murmurs of approval. Kris found Cook in the crowd and Cook gave him a slight nod. Kris knew that he would coral the men there in plenty of time, and with a minimum of fuss. Kris thought back to the discussion that he’d had with Adam and their discussions on justice. He was sure that Adam would give the men a fair trial and a punishment harsh enough to satisfy the crew. The Captain was taking the attack personally, and Kris had no doubts that it would translate through to the trial.

“Good then,” Kris smiled, “Now, I must to bed. The Captain has been kind enough to extend me the courtesy of his cabin for a few days, until I can manage a hammock again.”

Cook raised an eyebrow, but other than that, made no comment. Any comment from the men was cut off by the bell ringing eight.

“Right, you lot,” Cook stepped closer to Kris, “Any of you on watch, get yourselves ready. Any coming off watch, get yourselves to bed. Morning won’t be long coming and there’s a squall due tomorrow. Smithy said he feels it in his bones. We’ll need every hand when it’s here.” There were protests but Cook cut them off neatly, “Mister Allen isn’t going anywhere. He's gonna grab some sleep same as the rest of you and see you in the morning. And I want every man of you on deck when they drag out the mongrels who thought it was a good idea to smash one of ours when he was asleep.”

Kris smiled up at the man in thanks. Even though he was merely sitting, he felt the strain in every muscle. Had he not known that he had been asleep less than an hour ago, he would have guessed that he’d pulled a triple watch or more.

As they went past, the men tapped him on the shoulder, wishing him luck and assuring him that they’d stand by him in the morning and damn the bastards who did this. Kris nodded and thanked them for their words. Even Samuel was sent on to bed, over his protests so that eventually it was just him sitting there, with Adam behind him and Cook in front. Of Cale and Archie there were no sign.

Cook caught his gaze and huffed a laugh, “Archie is absorbed in the papers of the ship. The Captain set him the task of auditing to keep him distracted. He was pacing back and forth outside the room. Drove the Captain to the brink, not a word of a lie. He set Archie to work and I swear I haven’t seen him since. He slept down there, face down in one of the ledgers.”

Kris smirked, “I have no trouble picturing Archie lost in a world of books. I would wager that he is most diligent.”

“Cale is assigned this watch, but he’s being relieved at midnight,” Cook sat down on the bench beside Kris and sighed, “Wouldn’t do to have the boatswain too tired to swing his arm.”

That thought sobered Kris, “No, I suppose not.”

With the chaos since he’d woken and all the talk of trials, Kris had not really stopped to consider the actual consequences of the trials. Without doubt, men were being held somewhere below decks awaiting a hearing and should they be proved guilty – which they surely would – punishments would be meted out. Despite all his years on the sea, Kris still detested the harsh consequences that came with breaking any item on the rules of war or, in this case, breaking the code of the ship. Such crimes deserved brutal pronouncements, but even though it was his duty to stand firm and watch over the men as they met their fate, Kris had never liked the task.

He hated to see his men hurt and even though the men who attacked him were part of the crew of _The Madness_ rather than his own crew, he had wished no ill upon them except in those dark moments when he tried to move or breathe. No, that was not true. He did not wish to see them stripped bare of the skin on their backs, but crimes such as they committed allowed for no other verdict. It was either that or death.

The Captains under whom he’d served had often called him soft-hearted, and perhaps they were right but Forester had added that it was his greatest strength, this ability to empathise with the men. And Kris truly believed it so. That all said, though, he would stand his ground tomorrow and not flinch as the cat delivered its duty.

“I think it’s time to escort Kris back to his cabin, Cook,” Adam’s voice was low and Kris blinked, startled from his thoughts.

“Aye, sir,” Cook agreed and helped Kris to stand.

The journey back was no easier, in fact, with the renewed weight of tiredness that he now felt, it was harder now than ever it was. The two men held him steady between them and guided his steps.

Kris sat heavily on the bed, panting hard and soaked through with sweat. Cook stepped forward to strip him but Adam was there first and eased the jacket from his shoulders. The shirt came next followed by his trousers. Kris did not have the energy to worry about the state of his undergarments. He did not notice when Cook was dismissed, lost as he was in the sensation of cool water on his skin as Adam washed the sweat away and put him in a fresh shirt.

As Kris was laid back, he woke from his reverie and looked at the Captain, a thought suddenly crossing his mind, “I have put your from your bunk, where shall you sleep? Please tell me not the chair.”

“Don’t worry, Kris,” Adam smiled, “Nothing so hard for me. I am due on watch at midnight and there are several items that I must attend to before then. I shall reclaim my bunk following the hearing tomorrow and sleep a few hours then.”

Kris started to nod but sleep caught him again and he relaxed into dreams.

 

 

“Mister Allen, Mister Allen!”

Kris came awake as someone shook him gently, snapping upright and instantly regretting it. Tommy was at his side, pushing at his shoulders in an effort to get him lying down again. Kris went willingly, barely containing the curses that he wanted to shout from the rigging. He hurt, still and constantly. But he forced it down and turned to face Tommy who was looking on worriedly.

“Captain asked me to wake you. The men are starting to gather on deck.”

Kris nodded and held up his unsplinted arm for Tommy to help him up. Grabbing him firmly by the arm and raising him slightly, Tommy’s arm slid around his waist and gave Kris the extra support that he needed to sit up. He was stiff but the room stayed still, so he classed that as an improvement over the previous evening.

“Can I get you anything to eat, sir?” Tommy asked, “I’ve had some oats soaking, or I have...”

“Coffee, Tommy,” Kris answered, his stomach twisting at the thought of food, “Just coffee, if you will.”

“Aye, sir,” Tommy bobbed his head, ducking out only to come back not a minute later with a steaming cup of darkest Java coffee.

Kris practically inhaled it, savouring the taste as only a memory. He was ready to face the day, or at least as ready as he was going to be. Tommy helped him to his feet and helped him to dress. Again, Kris wore his formal uniform and again, it was freshly laundered. Kris looked to Tommy but he simply shrugged and blushed.

Kris leaned on Tommy as they made their way out from the cabin and up to the deck. Kris extricated himself from Tommy’s grip just before emerging on the deck. His pace was measured and slow with the men moving to get out of his way.

Adam held court on the main deck. He sat on a high backed chair, speaking quietly to Mister Bell. Beside him was another high backed chair whose purpose only became apparent as Kris approached.

“Lieutenant Allen, wonderful to see you up so early this morning. The men were getting a little restless,” Adam beamed at him, beckoning him closer. “I’ve had Brad organise a seat for you. No doubt the proceedings will be long and taxing for you. Sit yourself down and we shall begin.”

Kris was relieved that Adam had thought ahead. He had not relished the concept of standing for hours on end, but would have done it without comment had it been necessary.

Mister Bell called for the prisoners to be brought up and moments later Cale stepped onto the deck with no less than seventeen men trailing him in chains. Now Kris understood why the trial was happening so quickly. Guarding seventeen men, diverting the guards from their usual duties, would leave the watches undermanned. At least after the trial and the punishment, the guards could be released back to their usual duties.

The men were flanked by a selection of crewmen, a mixed batch of men from both crews some of whom Kris knew well and other’s he barely recognised. Each of these guards were equipped with pistols and swords and looked quite menacing. They made the men to stand in front of Adam in a straight line. Kris looked down the line and was surprised to find a face that he recognised. Davis, the man who had propositioned Samuel and then cried foul when the boy had run, stood at the end of the line, his eyes downcast. Kris made no comment, just watched the men in front of him.

When he looked to Adam, he found that the man’s now-familiar mirth had vanished from his face. Even his eyes were harsh and the dead coldness was back. Kris would have felt damned sorry for these men except for the fact that, as forgiving as he strived to be, these men had viciously attacked him while he was indisposed. And that hurt the most. Had it been a fair fight, one on one with gentlemen’s rules, Kris would have had no problem with their actions. But because they chose to act in the most cowardly of manners, he found himself wishing them harm.

He strove to be a good man, strong in the Christian faith and even though his thoughts last night had been charitable, and even though he hated to see any man under the lash, he could not help but hold a grain of anger in his heart now that they stood in front of him. He prayed for forgiveness but the only verse in his mind at the moment was ‘an eye for an eye’. He wished that he could be stronger, more forgiving but he couldn’t be. Not while every breath hurt.

He sighed as he shifted in his seat, drawing Adam’s eye. Concern flitted across the Captain’s eyes but Kris reassured the man with a look.

“Mister Bell, read the charges.”

“Each of the men here in front of you stands accused of breaking article three of _The Madness_ ’ code,” Bell began, “No member of the crew shall cause deliberate injury or death to another member of this crew. Further to this accusation, these men here gathered have attempted to break treaty with one Lieutenant Kristopher Allen, Acting First Officer, _The Hawk_ , said treaty agreed by Captain A. M. Lambert, Captain, _The Madness_ and by such breaking, caused instability in the crew.”

Bell nodded to the Captain before stepping back, the picture of an officious officer despite his garish clothing and manner.

Adam looked the men over for a moment before speaking, “Do you understand the charges as they were stated?”

The men grumbled but eventually nodded.

“Do you appoint one of your number as spokesman or do each of you wish to mount your own defence?” Adam asked.

Again, the men made no move to do anything but grumble until Davis stepped forward to speak. He glared at the other accused men and cowed them back. The men did not look happy with this, but they made no move to protest. Davis sneered at Kris and was only slightly better with the Captain as he squared his shoulders and looked up, catching and holding the Captain’s eye.

“I’ll do the speakin’,” he said, before bringing his arm up to wipe his nose on a sleeve.

The gathered crew shifted at that. They still hadn’t entirely forgiven him for the incident the previous day. Almost setting the powder store on fire, no matter the reason, was no way to make or keep friends.

Adam nodded, “Very well, Davis. What do you wish to say in your defence?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Capt’n, but none of the lads here think we should be havin’ this ‘ere trial. Ain’t exactly fair, like.”

Kris watched Adam’s eyebrow arch at Davis’ words, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lip, “Oh no? Why is that?”

“Well, sir,” Davis paused to gather what few thoughts he had, “We was talkin’ and well, they ain’t crew. Not really, sir. And your lad there, well, soon as you put him off, he’s gonna go runnin’ for the nearest Navy and he’s gonna have us up in front of t’magistrate, Capt’n, ‘fore ya can blink.”

Kris frowned at Davis’ choice of words. He was no one’s lad, nor would he ever be. The issue of perception regarding his marriage with duty was far more serious.

It was not entirely inaccurate, but Davis overestimated how quickly the wheels of bureaucracy worked. There would be days, weeks of hearings at the Admiralty just to justify himself and prove that he had not been turned by the pirates and that any information given was true and not just a well designed trap designed to lure another vessel into pirate hands. While yes, even landing on an island which did not have a naval presence, Kris could indeed go to a magistrate and ask for a charge of piracy against the men of _The Madness_ or insist that they be bound over until the Navy could be informed, most magistrates would drop the charges for a goodly bag of gold delivered anonymously to the back door.

Davis and these others were extremely naive and Kris could barely contain the derisive laugh.

“You have something to say in answer to Davis’ statement?” Adam asked.

Kris clasped his hand to the splinted opposite arm and rubbed a thumb across the bandage and wood, “Yes, I’ll speak to the charge.”

Adam nodded yielding the floor.

“Most islands here about are governed by pirates either directly or indirectly. I presume that our next port will be in New Providence,” he paused as the Captain confirmed the assumption, “New Providence, as you well know, is governed by a pirate government. A gathered crew of Pirate Captains divide the responsibility and make joint judgement on which laws to enforce and which to ignore. What hearing would I get, do you think, if I ran to the magistrate and spoke to him of piracy?”

Kris paused as the crew murmured agreement. _The Hawk_ ’s crew cheered outright, recognising that their Lieutenant had scored a solid shot.

Kris waited for the noise to quiet down again before continuing, “And New Providence is only the most notable example. Take any island around here with a solid population. They rely heavily on trade and most of that from non-Naval, non-merchant sources. Merchants do not bother with the smaller islands as they have little financial value in their company’s eyes, but the pirates stop on their shores regularly to purchase food and trade whatever loot they have captured. I am a Navy man, but I am not stupid. I have eyes and functioning reason. If I were to run to lay charges against _The Madness_ , it would more likely be my neck stretched than yours.”

Again, agreement ran through the crowd and Kris could see his men mixed amongst the pirates. Cook stood to the fore, having moved up since Kris took his seat, and Archie was at his side, a worried expression on his face. But Kris had no time to think on what could be the cause of Archie’s consternation.

Kris didn’t address the issues the man raised with the Admiralty and the Navy, nor would he. He had his own grievances with how quickly the wheels of the Admiralty turned but they were private, not to be shared with even his fellow Naval officers. Unfortunately, it would not be a case of simply stepping up to the nearest Captain and pointing him in the direction of _The Madness_ once they made land. There would be forms and procedures, protocols and verifications which would need to be carried out. Would that it were as easy as these men thought, for the Admiralty would run much better, but all the paper pushers would be looking for alternative employment. No, indeed, it would be quite a process to apprehend _The Madness_ even after they made land on the Carolinan coast, and one that would allow even a rowboat to go free.

His men would want revenge on _The Madness_ and Kris knew that it was only the fact that they were bound by Kris' oath kept them from plotting to retake the ship and rid _The Hawk_ ’s decks of the pirates.

No, best to keep to just the issue of magistrates, and leave his Naval gripes for another time.

“You’ve been successful enough to afford any bribe that a local magistrate could demand and I wager that the Captain would happily pay it. You’d be back at sea before I could even finish telling my tale, I suspect.”

There was murmuring agreement from the crew on both sides and Kris sat back.

“Is that your last word on the issue, Lieutenant Allen?” Adam asked and Kris nodded. “Then I deem that particular matter closed.” He turned his attention back to Davis, “Whether or not Lieutenant Allen was planning on shouting from the yardarm that we are pirates, it does not excuse your behaviour. It is not the duty of any man save the Captain and his officers to punish another member of the crew. You know that well as any man here, Davis. If you had a grievance, you should have brought it to one of the officers who could have dealt it in a manner such that you all were not standing here in front of me now.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed as he swept his gaze over the men and Kris felt a shiver run down his spine. His voice was cold, cold enough to freeze the accused men where they stood and kill any dissent before they uttered a single syllable.

“Perhaps you should put aside thoughts of justification and simply tell me why it was that you felt that Mister Allen deserved a beating.” Adam held up a hand as Davis opened his mouth in protest, “Do not lie to me, Davis, this was a beating plain and simple.”

Davis looked to his fellow accused and there was a brief discussion before Davis turned back to face Adam.

“Me and the lads, Capt’n, well, we got to thinkin’ yesterday,” there was a brief pause as Adam snorted disbelievingly, “and well, what you did to Bo'sun Wells was outta order. Jumping one of them lot up instead of Wells, it’s not right, Capt’n. Wells did nothin’ wrong.”

Kris sought out the boatswain, Wells, and watched carefully for his reaction. The man wasn’t happy to be called into this mess, that was for sure and certain and every man on board could see it written plainly upon his face.

Adam sat back in his chair considering what Davis said. His fingers tapped a staccato beat on the arm of the chair. Kris watched with baited breath to see what Adam would say to the crew as they waited eagerly. He could see that several of them appeared to agree with what Davis said but, for one reason or another, they had not joined the attack. More interesting by far was the man, Wells, himself. He stood to the right of Cale and looked eager to say his piece.

Adam sighed and sat forward a fraction, “When I was elected to this position, I made it clear that I would assign people to the tasks for which they were most suited. And I stand firm on that. I reviewed the qualifications of each man of _The Hawk_ ’s crew and weighed them against their counterparts on my own crew. _The Madness_ and her men are fine fighters and able seamen and more than a match for any other dogs that sail these seas,” he paused as a cheer went up, “but we now have a wealth of experience aboard. Navy though they may be, even I must tip my hat to the crew of _The Hawk_.”

He tipped his brim to Kris and Kris bowed his head a fraction in return.

“She had a most remarkable reputation and I would be negligent to dismiss that out of hand,” Adam’s gaze turned calculating, a look that Kris was most familiar with, as he looked out over his crew, “Mister Allen and I spoke at length concerning the crew members who now stand with us. Despite our backgrounds, we are all, now, bound together and must work as one. To that end, if there was a man among _The Hawk_ ’s crew who I felt had more experience, I put them in that position, even if there was one amongst our number who was currently assigned that job.”

Kris was surprised that Adam chose to explain himself. He’d never seen a Captain so open in front of his men and Kris respected the decision. So often things were done behind closed doors and the reasoning behind them never saw the light of day. Not even when it caused resentment amongst the crew as it did today.

Adam gestured over to where Cale stood, “Mister Mills has served as boatswain on _The Hawk_ for many years and knows her boards better than any other man. Given the day-to-day tasks of the boatswain, namely checking the sails and the rigging and ensuring that everything is in its place, having someone who knows the ship better than he knows himself could only be counted as a blessing.” He paused for a moment, sighing, “I spoke with Mister Wells yesterday about his new assignment and, of his own volition, Mister Wells agreed to step down as Boatswain and act as Boatswain’s mate instead so that Mister Mills can train him in the eccentricities of this ship. To that end, when Mister Mills leaves us, Mister Wells will be ready and able to step back into the role of boatswain and continue seamlessly in his service to the ship.”

He beckoned Mister Wells to step forward and confirm what Adam was saying, something that he did without hesitation, “It’s as the Capt’n says, boys. We ain’t had a Navy ship before. She ain’t hobbled together from whatever we could find and barrin’ the small issue of a hole in her side that’s been solidly patched, well, she’s about as perfect as can be. It’s a lot different, lads, and if ya’d come talk to me, I coulda told y'all that.”

Kris watched as the man stepped back, and Cale patted him on the shoulder, standing straighter as he looked over the crew as if daring any man to say something. Kris smiled, it seemed as if Cale had found an Archie of his own, someone to mentor and teach his trade to. Wells looked to be senior to Cale by at least five years but he seemed a much quieter man, something belied by his size and apparent strength. Kris vowed to make time to meet the man later.

“You have heard from Mister Wells and gotten his opinion on the matter but still I’d wager that there are those among you not satisfied,” Adam’s voice dropped, low and dangerous, “We are almost to New Providence. If the majority of you are not content with my lead, if you are not content with the spoils that I have won for you, then simply say and I shall step off the ship and leave you to choose a new captain. What say you? A show of hands or shall we go for a ballot? Yay or nay?”

His questions were greeted with shocked silence, and Kris was no exception. He knew that pirate ships were democracies when it came to selecting their captain but he never expected the Master of _The Madness_ to so willingly suggest a vote where he could be cast aside.

Bell stepped forward again, “You heard the Captain. We’re voting. Show of hands’ be easier. So stick your hand up if you continue to support the Captain.”

Nothing happened for the longest of moments and Kris could see a hint, just a twitch, of nervousness in the Captain. But then one hand rose, and another, and another until the entire crew, barring a few notable exceptions, of _The Madness_ , the _original Madness_ had raised their hands. Kris saw Adam turn to him, and raised an eyebrow in question.

“This is all one crew now, Mister Allen. Do you support me or do you feel that another captain would better serve the ship?”

Kris was taken aback. The words hung heavily in the air, with a weight that was only understood by the Captain and Kris. Of course, it made perfect sense that Adam needed his support. Given the make-up of the crew, if Adam failed the vote, Kris would be the likely next captain, or at least a strong candidate, and that fact alone had to make Adam nervous. But to not raise his hand would possibly be seen as breaking the compact that he had with the Captain. Not throwing his support behind Adam, however, and winning the title of Captain would make the agreement void, unnecessary. But there was no certainty that he would win given the mix of crews. It was all a muddle.

Kris weighed the options for another second, drawing out the moment and enjoying the nervous energy that hung in the air as everyone waited for his answer, including the Captain.

Finally, he raised his unsplinted hand, “I have no issue with your Captaincy.”

In truth, he didn’t. Not anymore. In the proceedings today, Adam had been a fair judge, allowing the men time to speak, to put their case forward. Charges and aspersions were dealt with easily and fairly and it was obvious that none but the few standing trial had issue with Adam’s direction. Barring the first trial and the fact that he was a ‘villainous cur’ – to quote the Admiralty – Kris had no issue with the man.

And once Kris had made his position clear, the men from _The Hawk_ raised their hands, echoing the judgement of their Lieutenant.

“And there you have it,” Adam’s voice broke through the men’s chatter, triumph and relief clearly audible to Kris, “You views are not the views of the crew. Mister Wells did not feel slighted by his apparent demotion, but still you felt the need to take matters into your own hands and teach Mister Allen a lesson that did not need teaching. Do you have anything further to say before I pass sentence?”

“Hang us or no,” Davis spat the words, “Won’t make a blast’ bit of difference once ‘e’s back on the mainland. Mark my words, brothers. That man there,” he pointed at Kris, “will be our downfall.”

Satisfied that his proclamation caused a deafening cacophony as men condemned him and protested against the future that he predicted, unable to hide the quivers of worry that laced their words, Davis stepped back to join the sixteen others who stood accused with him.

Adam sat back against the solid back of the chair and waited, watching until the voices died down to silence again. With a flourish of drama, he practically launched himself from the chair, standing tall in front of the accused. The men took an involuntary step backwards before they caught.

Kris waited. And waited until Adam had let the silence swell to the perfect pitch before he shattered it.

“For the seventeen men who, without thought or conscience, inflicted grievous harm upon a member of this crew, I find myself unwilling to entertain any thoughts of mercy,” Adam began, “You have gone against the sentiments of the crew and conspired to make the tenuous treaty between the crew of _The Hawk_ that was and _The Madness_ unstable. You broke the vows that I made with Lieutenant Allen, insulting the honour of both _The Madness_ and her crew. You conspired to injure and possibly kill a crewmember with the consequence of making work for the rest of the crew and _that_ is before we consider that one of the chartered rules was broken, shattered without thought.”

Adam started to walk the line of men, looking each of them in the eye as he spoke, “You offered only the weakest of defences. You had no reason to mitigate your actions. No, what you did was you made assumptions, unfounded assumptions and chose to deal with them yourselves. You took justice out of the hands of those who serve it and acted without thinking of the consequences. You put your desires of revenge above the welfare of the crew and for that, there can be no mercy granted.”

Kris barely dared to breathe as Adam spoke, but from his position, he could see beyond the men, to the spellbound crews, caught fast in the spider-web that Adam spun with his words.

“For the crime of breaking the code, I sentence each man here to forty lashes upon the bare back to be administered with a cat o’ nine tails of his own making. For breaking the treaty with the crew of _The Hawk_ that was, each man shall receive an additional twenty lashes,” Adam said, his voice carrying easily in the hush. “Should any man be unable to make a cat that meets the standards set forward by the boatswain or the boatswain’s mate, the cat used shall be one of the boatswain’s own making.”

The men, on hearing the judgement, lost all elements of bravado that had been holding them steady and one went so far as to try to run, but he was caught by the gathered crew and pushed back into the clearing.

“But this is not just a time for punishment,” Adam continued, ignoring the man’s vain attempts, “There is one among you who did not stand idly by and let the situation stand. For the man who ran to inform the officer of the watch, I accord a payment of ten pounds.”

Davis’ jaw dropped and Kris allowed himself a small smile.

Adam continued smoothly, “To clarify for those of you who are new to the crew, know this: I will not stand for an act of violence perpetrated against a member of this combined crew, not a blade unsheathed or a hand raised. If you have harsh words to say, then say them and that will be an end to it until we reach land. I will personally oversee any duels that are required.”

He paused and looked out at the men, “The Navy considers us little more than scum atop an ocean wave but we know better. We may not have the fine breeding that they think they have or titles following us around, but we are gentlemen none the less – not by birth but by actions – and damned be any who disagree. They treat us as dogs, but we show them through every little thing that we do that we are more, much more than that.”

The men cheered loudly, and Adam had to raise his hand to draw it to a close, for he was not finished, “So hear me now, if there is as much as a rumour that there is trouble brewing, I would hear it. Make yourselves known to the officer of the watch and inform them. Rewards will be measured accordingly.”

Kris was impressed by the proclamation and thought it to be far fairer than anything any Naval Captain would do. He was starting to believe that there were indeed vast differences between Adam and the other pirate captains who scoured the seas.

But Adam was not finished, “That leaves us with just one matter outstanding.”

Kris frowned. He could think of no further issues. Adam had heard the case and declared what the punishment would be. He had gone so far as to set up a system whereby he would be warned of future attempts on the lives of any of the men under his command. Barring the actual punishment, surely he was done.

“Davis, step forward,” Adam ordered and the man did, although reluctantly.

Adam came to stand in front of him. He had an inch or two on Davis but with his barrel chest, Davis would ordinarily be the favoured man in any fight. Today however, it was a different story. Adam stood as if his spine were made of the hardest Toledo steel and the look upon his face would make any sane man cower back in terror. Davis had obviously not grasped that Adam had a further issue to raise with him, or that he was outmatched in every possible way.

“This man,” Adam began, “just two days ago, stood in front of me and every man here accused of a heinous crime and I gave him the chance to redeem himself. Less than one watch later, not even eight hours later, he broke one of my cardinal rules. I am a fair man and try to be a fair Captain, each of you here can attest to that, but I must also stand by my word.”

The men agreed, murmurs rising to be carried by the breeze.

“I said before the gathered crew that should he offend again that I would see to it that he received eighty strokes. I stand before you now and I uphold my word. Boatswain, bind him tight and see that he gets no less than eighty stokes of the cat, to be delivered directly following the forty owing for the breaking his oath on the code and the twenty for breaking the treaty.”

Kris gasped, as did the crew, and for good reason. One hundred and forty lashes. Sixty was harsh enough, but one hundred and forty? It was brutal. Possibly a death sentence depending on the constitution of the man. Davis was hardly his favourite person on the ship, but Kris did not know if he could stomach watching the man’s life stripped away one lash at a time.

There were also the practicalities to consider. Cale had a strong arm but to inflict the sheer number of strokes required would leave him sore, as well as the men. Even splitting it with Wells would just mean that both men were fit for nothing more for the day. With the Captain’s decree that the men be gathered for the trial, and the customary observation of the punishment, this was going to be a very long, very bloody day.

Kris considered stepping in, saying something, but he could not find it in his heart to do so.

“Punishment will begin promptly at the next bell,” Mister Bell shouted over the chatter of the men, “Food has been prepared in the mess. Eat while you have the chance.” He lowered his voice to address Cale and Wells, “I will have one of the men bring out plates for you. I fear that you will need your strength. Water and rum will be laid out as per your requirements.”

Cale nodded and thanked the First Officer, before sending Wells off to gather the lengths of rope from below deck. The men were rounded up and sat down on the deck. The hands that Cale had recruited as guards stood around them, keeping careful eye on the men, and most especially on the man who tried to run.

Adam leaned into Kris, a teasing smile on his lips, “I had planned to head back down to the wardroom to eat, but I am not sure that you can make the journey and back. Shall I ask Tommy to bring the food here?”

All trace of the harsh disciplinarian had disappeared, replaced by the more carefree Adam that he had grown used to over the last few hours.

Kris ducked his head and returned the smile with a smaller one, “I fear that you may be right. I move slower than a French man-o-war at the present. I am not sure that I could make it down and back in time for the bell. But do not let me hold you back. You had a watch last night, did you not? You must be famished. Go, take your breakfast. I shall be fine. I have no stomach for food. Not this morning and I fear that if I tried, I would find myself cursing God, the devil and everything in between retches.”

Kris did not believe that purging with broken ribs would be a pleasant situation and if possible, he wished to avoid bringing even more pain to his day.

“Famished does not even begin to describe what I am feeling,” Adam replied and Kris shivered at the almost predatory look in his eye. “But I would find the wardroom incomplete without your company.”

“Pretty words, Captain,” Kris laughed quietly, turning so that the men could not see, “but pretty words do not feed hungry bellies. If you are so robbed of my company, then please ask Tommy to attend you here. I am not hungry, though, and I feel no shame in telling you that honestly I could not stomach food so close to the events that we are about to witness. But if you could request a mug of that coffee that Tommy makes so well, I would be indebted to you.”

“One should be careful to whom they are indebted, sir,” Adam’s eyes twinkled, “you never know what manner of dread rascal is about these parts.”

Kris laughed again, a little louder this time. He enjoyed this banter with Adam and thought it a welcome distraction from the morning events. He still hurt and the seat upon which he sat was far from comfortable. But at least the company was good.

“Wait here,” Adam requested, “I shall be back in a moment.”

“As if I had a choice but to wait here,” Kris answered but Adam was already walking away with a catlike grace that Kris rather envied.

Turning his eyes to the men, Kris watched as they started the process of selecting ropes and tying them together to create the instrument of their own punishment. It was not a complicated process, and each man amongst the crew had learned early in their careers how to make the damned item and the officers were no exception. It all started with a single length of rope, about four feet long. About two foot of the rope was then unravelled into three neat and even sections, and each of these three were divided again into another three, making the nine tails. To secure the rope and stop it from further unravelling, a leather thong was wrapped tightly around the base. Then each of the tails was knotted three times. It made little difference where the knots were, be it at the end of each strand or spread evenly across the length as each one would hit the back and drag across the skin. It didn’t particularly matter where the knots came, a boatswain who knew the trade and has performed it before would strike well no matter the instrument.

Cale stepped closer to Kris and nodded a greeting, “I wish I could say that you were looking well this morning, Mister Allen, but truth be told, you look like you were dragged backwards under the ship and stopped to bang yourself off each and every board.”

Smiling, Kris looked up at the man, “Well, it’s probably for the best that I look that way, for it would be a shame to feel this bad and have no outward signs.”

“You may be right there, sir,” Cale agreed, “I heard that you made a trip to the mess last night. I was sorry to have missed it.”

“You had a watch, or so it was my understanding,” Kris replied, “I know that you would have been there if you could have spared the time, but the Captain told me that between yourself, Cook and Archie, a constant eye was kept on my condition.”

Cale grinned, “Aye. Archie almost drove the Captain to distraction. He was banished from the room twice.”

Kris’ eyes widened at that.

“Twice? For what reason?”

One of the men shifted and Cale’s attention focused on the man, eyes narrowing as he spotted a flash of steel, “Disarm that man!”

The guards jumped at the shout, and the man reacted, jumping to his feet and slashing out at the nearest guard, and then running for Kris. Kris braced himself for the attack but the man was slammed into the deck long before he came close and within seconds the knife was snatched away and the man was nursing a bruised cheek. The scuffle was over before it had begun and Kris could not quite get his mind around the fact that the man had thought to attack him. It was desperation surely. Even if he had been successful, where could he have hoped to go to escape further punishment? As it was, the man would be lucky if the Captain didn’t sentence him further. The ship was days from any port or island and, from Kris’ estimation, well out of any regular shipping lanes.

“You were saying?” Cale asked, redirecting his attention back to Kris.

“What?” Kris asked, startled, “Yes. Archie was dismissed twice?”

“Ah, yes,” Cale nodded, his smile slowly returning, “It seems that the Captain has no patience with the exuberance of youth. Archie could not sit still even under threat of violence and each time he moved, you became unsettled so the Captain sent him out to the hallway where he paced endlessly until he was allowed in again, and so it continued until the Captain assigned him duties.”

Kris smiled. He could picture the image well and could not entirely hold it against Adam for his actions. Speaking of the Captain, Kris spotted the man walking towards them, Tommy following in his wake.

“Ah, it appears that you are shortly to have company,” Cale’s gaze caught on Adam, “I shall take my leave and see what messes they are making of their work.”

Cale stepped away and returned to his duties, but Kris did not miss the look that Adam shot Cale’s way. It was heat-filled, with a touch of anger and something else that Kris could not put a name to.

“Mister Mills kept good eye on me during your absence,” Kris said and the anger faded from the Captain’s eyes.

He huffed a laugh as he remembered their negotiations just two days ago and marvelled that in that time, Adam had gone from an unreadable figure who may well have been carved from granite to this open book of emotions and passions. He was sure that no others could see the feelings flashing bright in Adam’s eyes and revelled in that knowledge.

A small table was produced and placed in front of their chairs, and on it was placed a pot of coffee, two cups and a hearty breakfast for the Captain. Kris beamed at Tommy as the man poured a good sized cup of coffee for him. Lifting the cup to his nose, Kris inhaled the rich, earthy smell before sipping at the piping hot liquid.

“You are a true gentleman, Tommy,” Kris said between sips.

Tommy’s lips quirked up for an instant before he returned to his usual professional manner. Kris brought his attention back from the coffee as Adam started on his breakfast and his own cup of coffee, a cup that was significantly smaller than Kris’. Kris smiled up at Tommy and was rewarded with a wink so quick that Kris almost missed it. The man pulled two small oranges from his pocket and placed them down in front of Kris.

“I hear that they aid the healing, sir,” Tommy’s voice was soft, just carrying to Kris’ ear. “And they taste a damned sight nicer than potions, I believe.”

Kris laughed and thanked Tommy. He was touched by the gesture and anything that meant no more of Maya’s concoctions was welcome.

“My man prefers you to me, it would seem,” Adam leaned in and whispered the words.

“Not at all, Captain,” Kris reassured him, “A new palette to cook for is all it is, I’m sure.”

Adam watched him for a second and then turned back to his plate.

It was not long before the bell rang the hour and the men slowly filtered back out to the deck. Tommy descended whisk away the table, leaving Adam and Kris to hold the cups of coffee, topped up to the brim again.

Cale and Wells had been busy in the meantime. Each cat had been checked and only one, the man who had made to attack Kris’, had been discarded, a sloppily made contraption that was created to unravel long before the sentence had been carried out. Cale’s lip had curled as he tossed it aside in favour of his own much sturdier creation. Kris could see the knots, huge against the rope strands, clearly even from his seat and he swallowed heavily. The man would have no skin left on his back even after just a handful of strokes.

A rope had been tossed over the yardarm and hung down almost to the deck. The knot was noose-like and would hold the men’s arms securely as each stoke hit them, stretching them out to give Cale and Wells a target. With everything in place and fit for the task, Cale turned to Adam and nodded his readiness to start.

“At your leisure, Mister Mills,” Adam returned.

Cale beckoned for Davis to be brought forward. He was grasped firmly under both arms by the guards and raised to his feet. His shirt was tugged off and tossed to one of his fellows. The man did not make it easy for them, but they were undeterred. Cale looped the rope around Davis’ wrists and pulled it tight. Wells then drew on the rope and pulled it so that Davis was standing tall, stretched but still on the full of his feet, and tied it off on one of the rope stays on the mast.

Taking his place behind Davis, Cale nodded and Wells moved to the side, eyes flashing between Cale and Davis, ready to call the count. Cale flexed his shoulders and shook out the cat, unravelling the individual strands until they were hanging freely. He swung the cat once, twice finding the familiar feel of the instrument before turning to Davis’ back. His arm rose and fell with a loud crack as the rope cat snapped across Davis’ back. No sound but a grunt issued from the man and he held himself firm in his bondage, red stripes rose on his back. Wells’ voice carried easily as he counted the first strike.

“One.”

Cale raised his arm again and snapped out the next stroke, finding his rhythm.

“Two.”

There was more movement from Davis this time, as he arched away from the stroke, but still no sound. Cale laid on the next stroke.

“Three.”

Another snap of the cat.

“Four.”

And another.

“Five.”

Davis’ back was red now with welts rising and darkening only instants after the strands of the cat landed on him. But still the man made no noise. Though he wished to turn away, Kris’ eyes were fixed tight to Davis, watching every muscle twitch, every rise and fall of the man’s ribs. He had to be in pain but force of will kept him from crying out.

“Six.”

The cords of the cat snapped around Davis’ side and he started. Kris held his breath.

“Seven.”

Another crack as the cat landed just north of the kidneys and Kris saw the man’s fingers tighten on the rope holding his hands, clutching it for support. That would be the lowest that Cale would strike, Kris knew. He’d seen the man work before and he was an expert, covering a man’s back evenly and ensuring that not a fraction was unmarked.

“Eight. First blood, Mister Mills.”

Wells was correct. Straight across the back, from shoulder blade to spine, a welt had been split open and ran red with blood. It usually took Cale longer to draw blood and Kris wondered if he was going especially hard on Davis owing to the crime.

“Nine.”

Davis’ knuckles were white now, his fingers attempting to meld with the rope holding him upright. Kris clutched the cup of coffee tight, his own fingers blanching as he did so.

“Ten.”

Another welt opened, further down this time, and still Cale pressed on. And on. And on. A never ending torrent of blows tempered only with occasional sips of rum and water.

“Eighteen.”

Davis broke, screaming out his pain for all to hear. It was a gut-wrenching cry drawn up from his very toes, through his battered body and forcing its way out despite Davis' best efforts. His back was awash with blood now and his trousers were stained. Cale flicked the cat now on every stroke, sending drops flying out behind him. Strike and snap, strike and snap. Men moved lest they be coated in the blood of their crewmate and former friend. But still they were not done.

“Forty two.”

Still Davis stood, his feet firmly on the deck, but he arched away from every stroke, trying to escape the full blow but it was a vain attempt as Cale picked his vectors to match the man’s movements. His back was split and Kris doubted there was one full inch of undamaged skin remaining. Kris tried to look away, to look at the men crowded in close and shivering at the ordeal they were watching, but he couldn’t. Hanging there, suffering, Davis drew the eye and captured it, much like watching a ship about to run aground or tear itself wide open on jagged rocks.

“Eighty Seven. Flash of white, sir.”

Kris’ hands were shaking, matching the quivers running through the crew. Cale stopped, shaking loose the cat dyed dark by the blood, and stepped over to the man, examining the wounds. Turning to the captain, he nodded once and Adam returned the nod, bidding him to continue. Kris’ stomach rolled but he bit back the bile. Bone had been sighted and would be ignored in favour of carrying out the remainder of the punishment.

“One hundred one.”

The younger members of the crew, those not yet having reached their maturity had been excused and were no doubt cowering below decks with tears streaming down their faces. They would have nightmares this night and no doubt of that. Blood and death from battle were well enough, but to see flesh stripped from bone in such a casual manner would scar them just as it would Davis. But hopefully, they would grow to put this behind them, while Davis would always carry the marks. Those distinctive scars would forever mark him and colour other’s opinions of him.

“One hundred thirty.”

Wells' voice was cracking now and the frown on his face spoke volumes. Davis had slumped in his ropes, overcome with pain and shock. Maya had moved to stand at the front of the men, Manish at her side, both with grim faces. How Davis had not lapsed into oblivion, Kris could not fathom, but he was still aware, still staring sightlessly at the deck. His screams were groans now, hoarse and scratchy as the lash stole his voice. It was almost done and for that, Kris was glad.

“One hundred forty and all’s done.”

There was a palpable sigh of relief through the men and from Kris as well. He hated the man, hated him with a passion few men had ever excited. Davis had almost forced the Captain to inflict this particular fate on Samuel. He would have done worse had the boy not run. He had gathered together a force of men and delivered a beating the like of which Kris had never before felt. He had almost broken the treaty between the crews. But now, seeing him hanging there, there was nothing but sympathy left for the man.

Sympathy and worry.

Kris had seen men balk from the lash and take it like men, but often all it did was break their spirits or leave them twisted tight inside until only resentment remained. He did not believe that Davis would emerge a broken man, but rather bitter and filled with hate at the Captain and at him, the cause of this hurt, at least in his imagination.

He watched as Maya ordered the man lifted down and brought below decks. The guards complied instantly, moving as quick as they were able and the men parted as they disappeared below decks.

Kris chanced a look out over the crew. Pale faces looked back at him as even the hardest of men looked chastened by the experience. Cook’s arm wove tight around Archie’s waist and the younger man shivered where he stood. His eyes were wet, shining in the sunlight, but Cook had him and Kris was glad.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he was surprised to find it cold in his hand. He set it aside as the next man was brought up and a new cat was unfurled. Wells stood up this time with Cale calling the count as he rolled his shoulder, stretching it. Though Wells was the bigger man by far between the two, size had very little to do with damage when it came to flogging. It was all in the wrist and in the skill and Kris wagered that Cale was by far the more experienced in this unfortunate duty.

“One.”

Kris was correct. Wells used strength and brought the lash down hard, but the red only rose where first the strands hit, not in the measured strokes down the back that Cale had produced. Cale whispered something to him. Wells looked from Cale to the man and back again before nodding grimly and delivering the next strike.

“Two.”

It was better this time. Not perfect yet but better, centred and running the length of the man’s back. This man was nothing like Davis. He cried out from the first strike, writhing and twisting like an eel caught in a net.

“Three.”

It got worse with each progressive stroke. He cried for his mother. He cried for the sea to take him. The men turned away in disgust, revolted by such a display. Louder and louder he cried until Cale called ‘All Done’ and he was carried off, curled up on himself and blubbering like a baby. Were he in that position, Kris liked to think that he would weather the punishment well, as Davis did rather than this tragic figure. Take it like a man rather than a boy. In his heart, Kris prayed that he would never be in that position, nor any one he cared for.

The next man and the next man was tied and flogged and released and brought below and Kris could see the strain on Cale and Wells, but still they soldiered on, taking sips of water and rum in equal measure to fortify them for the chore in which they were engaged. They were not the only ones under strain. The men too were restless, and agitated at watching their fellows under the lash. One, or two perhaps, was generally the height of it in any session, but seventeen? That was beyond the pale.

Kris looked to Adam, and could see the stress in his eyes. He leaned in close, whispering, “Perhaps that is sufficient for today. There are tasks set that this watch must do. We can start afresh tomorrow.”

Adam shook his head, “I made a vow to my men that I would not leave them to sit with such a punishment hanging over their heads. Best it is done today and over so that they can start to heal and put these events behind them.”

Kris sighed but understood the wisdom in the Captain’s decision. It would be much worse if they had to sit and wait, knowing that the lash waited for them and dreading it’s harsh kiss. He sat back in his seat and watched helplessly until it was done.

Cook stole Archie away from the deck before the guards could release the ties and lower the last man to the deck. The watch was considered done as no man would be able to concentrate on anything until the deck was washed clean and all trace obliterated.

“A free period is declared,” Bell shouted over the crowd, “Rum rations will be served in the mess.”

Kris debated with himself for a moment before speaking up, “Send my ration to the surgeon’s rooms, Mister Bell. I’m sure that the men will be glad of the anaesthetic, either in their bellies or on their backs.”

Bell looked at him as if he had just sprouted another head, and that with horns, but he recovered quickly, “Of course.”

Around him rose a murmur and then Cale stepped forward, “Take what remains of mine also.”

Nodding, Bell drew a pencil and some paper from a pocket and scribbled down their names. Wells was next to speak, adding his name to the list. One by one, men stepped forward and offered their rations. Kris had no doubt that the surgeon’s rooms would be swimming in rum by the end of the day, but all the better to keep the wounds clear and the men asleep while their backs were dressed and cleaned.

Deep within his heart, deep in the place where the darkest of emotions were stored, Kris wished that it would be any man but Davis who would gain by his small sacrifice.

“There was no need to do that,” Adam murmured beside him, “I had planned to send a cask down after the men had disappeared to the mess.”

Kris nodded at this, taking in the words and feeling a warmth in his soul at the sentiment. The man who had sat, feigning hard-heartedness, had a soul and a kind one at that.

“I did not know that,” Kris admitted, “I am sorry to have stepped all over your intentions, but I thought that if they knew that the men were donating their hard won rations, that it might make it easier for them to stomach the punishment that they had to take today. If they think that we are going to segregate them for their crimes or carry it further, then we will surely lose the men when we make land, and I’ll confess that I don’t know what tasks they are assigned, but you do not seem like a man who suffers fools gladly.”

“An accurate assessment,” Adam smiled, “And an interesting position. I’m sure that the men will thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“Maybe some of them, but I fear that at least one will harbour a grudge against me,” Kris admitted.

“Davis,” Adam said. “Don’t trouble yourself about him. He’ll be watched.”

Kris said nothing to that, just sat back and watched the men file down the stairs to the mess as others cleared down the deck. Cale and Wells just sat to the side, watching the work as they caught their breath. It had been a hard day for them and Kris knew that they would soon make for their bunks and sleep long into the night. While demanding, the regular work of the ship never compared to the harsh task of flogging a man until the skin was stripped from his back.

“Do you wish to return to the cabin?” Adam asked and Kris shook his head.

“No, but thank you for the offer. I told the men that I would make myself available to them and so far all I have done is sleep.”

“For good reason,” Adam interrupted.

“Be that as it may,” Kris pushed on, “I should make good on my word. I shall make my way over to midships, I think and sit there a while if that is agreeable?”

“Then I shall help and take my leave,” Adam smiled. “I have unfortunately been on watch since midnight and find myself drained.”

“Then go,” Kris instructed him, “I shall find my own way over. I am injured but I still have my wits and some of my strength.”

Adam didn’t seem entirely convinced at that last statement but Kris was already pushing himself to his feet and taking a few tentative steps. He was stiff, sore and not exactly sure that he _could_ make the journey unaided but his pride carried him on when his body weakened. The Captain dogged each step. Kris finally sat on the cargo hatch cover and leaned back against a wooden support.

“You are too stubborn by half, Kris,” he smiled.

“Easily recognised by one who is the same way,” Kris laughed back.

“Very well, I shall take my leave of you then. If you have any need of me, simply send a man down and I shall be on deck directly,” Adam inclined his head and Kris thanked him.

Stepping back and away, the Captain left and Kris allowed himself a moment of weakness, clutching at his ribs as pain ran through him. His hands shook with tremors and he sagged against the support until they passed. Thankfully there was no one to see him here.

It had been a damned tough day but soon it would be over and they could move on and put these troubled waves behind them. With a sigh, Kris closed his eyes and cast up a prayer for uneventful days.


	9. Explosive Arguments and Safe Ports

  


  
_9th June 1710  
Estimated 8 Leagues from New Providence_   


Kris was bored.

The ship sat at anchor just off the coast of New Providence, neither making for harbour nor planning to and for no reason that Adam chose to share. And for fourteen days now, Kris had been so completely uninvolved in the ship’s duty that he now found himself to be completely listless. He had asked to be assigned tasks ranging from holding watches to patching sailcloth, but the result was the same – polite acknowledgement and an efficient dismissal, no matter which man or watch commander he asked. Even his own men had politely declined his help, pointing him instead to some member of the joint crew who was struggling with a minor issue, the equivalent of a mental splinter. He’d tried to counter the trend but every effort he’d engaged was met with a deft rebuttal. He’d been wont to blame Mister Bell, but the situation persisted even without his intervention, leaving Kris not only bored, but annoyed.

“It’s almost as if they have been ordered to keep me from any duty more taxing than walking the deck,” Kris remarked to Tommy as Tommy cleared the luncheon plates – another job that Kris was not allowed to help with.

Tommy was conspicuous in his silence, not meeting Kris’ eyes and Kris knew that his assessment was correct.

“Damn him all to Hell,” Kris growled under his breath.

He rose to his feet and walked to the Captain’s bureau and opened it to find a bottle of port. He didn’t usually partake so early in the day but he felt a need for it this afternoon. He had not slept well the previous night and was now riding the edge of his last nerve.

In point of fact, he had not slept particularly well any night this last week for he’d been plagued with nightmares. Oh, they started well enough, as pleasant dreams, just open waves, and _The Hawk_ beneath his feet, a working crew and an unseen companion strong at his back but all too soon they morphed into nightmares. Charles Towne port appeared before him and that was where the tide turned. Seized at the docks, Kris had been dragged through the streets and into the heart of the Admiralty. Mocking, jeering faces looked down at him and him ever so small beneath their gaze. They castigated him and tore him to shreds. He remembered the feeling that someone was with him, steady and solid at his back, their hands supporting him until the final verdict was announced. He was unmanned in that instant, crying like a child and pleading for mercy, but none came, until eventually he stood before the assembled folk of Charles Towne and waited for the hangman to end his life. It was with the snap of the rope and his neck that he awoke, a cry on his lips, every night.

Kris sipped at the port, killing the bitter taste in his mouth as he thought back on his nightmares. He knew that guilt fuelled the dream but he could do nothing for it. The alliance had been the best plan and succeeded in keeping the men safe and whole. Since the incident below decks, they had forged together into a solid crew. It appeared, now, that the only place that they were separate was in his mind, even to the point that Kris was hard pressed to think of what would happen when they eventually made port on the Carolina coast and they were free to make the choice of whether to return to the Navy or to remain on board, sailing the seas and searching out fortune and adventure. In truth, Kris could see the appeal of that – not that he could consider such a thing – but for the men who lived all their lives at sea, the chance at riches versus a regular wage made for a tough decision and one that Kris did not envy them.

Kris himself had grown comfortable here, despite his lack of duties to perform. Adam had been a most gracious host and an easy conversationalist and Kris found himself warming to the man much more than he expected, and it wasn’t the addle-minded trust that he’d had for him the day following that horrible incident. No, rather it was a, dare he say it, friendship. Kris was certain that had they met under different circumstances, that they would be fast friends as well as colleagues, but here, aboard _The Madness_ , there was an element of forced circumstances to the budding friendship, but Kris was genuinely at ease in the other man’s company now. Not only did they share quarters, but they spent much of the time that Adam was not on duty here in the ward room, taking, conversing and playing chess.

It had surprised Kris when Adam had pulled out the large mahogany box and opened it. Inside were the most beautifully carved figures, each set in their own compartment and separated from their fellows. Carved from stone with the most exquisite detailing, one set was red while the other was left a natural grey. It was another hint to a gentlemanly past that Adam had not, as yet, chosen to confide. Oh, he was positively frank about his time as a pirate – Kris knew details about Adam’s past that made him blush bright red and pale to the shade of a corpse – but the time before he turned knave seemed to be something to be cherished and kept close to his chest and Kris was curious. The man could play chess like an Admiral, obscuring the strategy until just the right moment and then BOOM! and checkmate, and Kris could not help but wonder where he had learned, for he could not see any pirate willingly spending time pursuing the finer things in life when there was treasure to be won and ships to be pillaged.

Kris sat at the table in his usual seat, his port glass in front of him and the bottle still within easy reach, but this wasn’t right. His back was to the door and he wanted the advantage. Moving to Adam’s usual seat, the Captain’s usual seat, seemed to be the best course of action. As soon as he had gotten himself settled, artfully arranged so that he looked as much like a presiding judge as he could without the gowns and wigs, he heard footsteps on the corridor outside. The footsteps passed the door and Kris waited, straining to hear the splashes of water as Adam cleaned the salt and grime from his face and hands. Then he approached and Kris drew a breath, summoning every peeve and annoyance to the forefront of his mind so that they could be laid out before Captain Lambert for his consideration and justification.

Adam paused just inside the door, his brow creasing as he saw Kris sitting in his seat, and Kris barely bit back the smile, trying hard to keep all expression from his face. Kris watched Adam’s gaze flick from Kris to the bottle of port to the bureau still open against the back wall of the room. He sighed and walked over to the bureau and took another glass, pouring himself a measured glass of purloined port.

“The sun is over the yardarm, barely,” Adam murmured, “But I suppose that any hour of the day is acceptable if the drink is of quality. You look troubled, Kris.”

He seemed tired, but Kris pushed on, unwilling to lose the momentum he had built up inside his head.

“Troubled, I would say so,” Kris nodded. “Troubled and angry, to tell the truth.”

Adam sat down on the chair usually reserved for Kris and threw a leg over the arm. His breeches strained at the movement, pulling tight and Kris resolved to keep his eyes on Adam’s face.

“I have come to suspect something, Captain,” Kris began, “and I would appreciate a straight answer from you, if you would.”

“Back to Captain, are we?” Adam raised an eyebrow and Kris nodded in answer, “Alright, I shall give you as straight an answer as I am able. Ask your question.”

“Have you ordered the men to ensure that I do nothing more taxing than watch the weather change?” Kris demanded, proud of the even tone in his voice.

Adam sipped the port and levelled a measuring gaze at Kris. He was slow to answer, but Kris refrained from filling the silence with words, simply meeting Adam’s gaze and holding it firmly. He would have his answer and damn all else.

“Yes.”

One word, one damned word. That was to be his only answer? Kris’ hands clenched tight.

“When is this ban to be lifted? I am hale and hearty and can do any work assigned me.”

“You may think that you are well, but on this issue, you’ll forgive me for not simply taking your word for fact when I have not one but two surgeons on board and they both agree that neither your hand nor your ribs are fully healed yet,” Adam shrugged, putting his port glass down, “And until I get the all clear from either Maya or Manish, I cannot in good conscience put you to work. So yes, I have instructed the watch commanders and various persons in the crew that, until the surgeons clear you for duty, you are not to be assigned any labour.”

Kris’ jaw dropped and he gaped at Adam, “You cannot be serious. Until the surgeons...” Kris trailed off, looking down at his hand, still in a splint but no longer the focus of his every waking moment, “To blazes with the surgeons. I have a mind damn it. I am not feeble. If I cannot scrub decks then give me some other task. If you are concerned about my hand and my ribs, then why not something more suited to my current condition. I have served on board ships of this ilk for close on ten years. There are a multitude of jobs on board that do not require physicality, but rather a good pair of eyes and brains to boot.”

Adam sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Aye, there are, but those tasks are already being performed.”

“You mean to tell me that you cannot find one job, one trifling task to which I can be assigned across all the decks of this ship?” Kris barked out a laugh, “Tell me yes and I will call you a liar. I know, well as you, that there is always _something_ that can be assigned to an idle body. Damn it man, but if I have to stare at the walls of this room or take yet another endless constitutional around the deck, I shall go mad.” Kris sat back in the chair, “Did you know that I spent two hours just searching the railings along the edge of the mizzen deck this afternoon searching out splinters? I found two, small things they were, but adequate for my purposes. But I had no sooner located the tools necessary for the repairs than I found two of the men thoroughly engaged in sanding them down.”

“Be that as it may, I do not have any task to which you can be assigned,” Adam remained firm, “Perhaps I could interest you in a book to read to wile away your hours here? I have several novels if one should take your fancy. Swift perhaps, or Galland’s translations?”

“I will not be put off,” Kris shook his head, sighing. “Why will you not see reason on this? I am the only man sitting idle on the ship. Indeed, more men are engaged in keeping me from any task of interest and that can hardly be helping the running of the ship. It is, quite frankly, embarrassing. Tell me, how am I supposed to face the men like this, one arm long as the other and nothing in either? For the love of God, give me a spyglass and put me on the bow to watch for sails if nothing else.”

But Adam would not be budged, “I have officers enough without the confusion that would come with you standing watch. The situation is tenuous still and I can ill afford even a moment’s hesitation in these waters.”

“Hesitation? What hesitation?” Kris asked.

Adam seemed to be angling at something, obfuscating around a point and Kris was in no mood for word games. All he wanted was some minor duty to perform, something to make himself feel as if he was earning his supper.

Adam played his finger around the rim of the glass, looking up at Kris, “You see a ship to starboard. She’s flying no colours, what do you do?”

“What heading? What can I see through the glass?” Kris asked.

Adam didn’t respond, just gestured Kris to answer.

“Well, I suppose I’d signal for their identification, find out their allegiances. Standard protocol for any vessel, really.”

“And that, Lieutenant Allen, is why I cannot have you stand watch for _The Madness_ ,” Adam said, “This is a pirate ship. We have only a handful of ships that we are friendly with, and all of them know better than to sail colourless. Allegiances or sides in a war do not matter to us. There are three types of ship in the pirate world. Those with a marketable cargo or loaded with treasure, those without anything of worth but the nails to keep the timbers in place and those who try their luck and mean to steal our hard earned bounty. There are no others out there and that I have to tell you that means that you are still thinking like an officer of the British Navy and that is something that can only bring ruin on us.”

“And that is a bull-headedly stupid notion,” Kris argued back, slamming his good hand down on the table in front of him. “I thought better of you. You’re on a ship that for all intents and purposes looks every bit the picture of a British Naval vessel, because that is what it _is_. Renaming her aside, she is built a frigate and the only crews this side of the ocean to sail a frigate are the Navy. What would ordinarily be an enemy could turn friend very quickly if you were to fly different colours. Theoretically, I suppose that you could also use that tactic to get close to merchant ships...”

Kris paused, thinking over his previous conversation and blanching. Had he seriously been advising a pirate captain how to gain the trust of a merchantman so that he could better embrace the element of surprise and plunder the unsuspecting ship?

“I had thought of that, true enough,” Adam answered, smirking but the expression did not travel to his eyes, “But I had thought that such a tactic would not sit well with you or indeed with your crew. Now that I have your blessing...”

“Damn and blast, you do not!” Kris retorted, “And I should not have said such a thing. I am sure that you have considered the angles.”

“Aye at that,” Adam nodded, “Aye. But in truth, I have carefully manufactured the reputation of _The Madness_ and such duplicitous measures are not in keeping with that carefully honed image. No, I would rather trade on superstitions than on straight forward lies. Call me old-fashioned, but it sits better with me.”

Kris leaned forward, genuinely interested in Adam’s answer, “Why is that?”

“Would you believe me if I said that it was more honest work?” Adam laughed, but again Kris could see plainly that it was forced, “Men hereabouts are ruled by their emotions and their fears especially. They will watch their destruction coming as long as it is couched in mists and fog. They are easy to trick, and easier to plunder if not one man will raise a sword or think to fire cannon until you are already aboard his vessel and spilling his blood.”

“So rather than present yourselves as living, breathing men, it is more honest to lead them to believe you abominations, creatures of rotted flesh and bare bones?” Kris rolled his eyes, “Damn it man, you berate me for not having the pirate mentality? Need I remind you once again that I am _not_ a pirate nor have I ever been? I am an officer in her Majesty’s Navy and a damned good one.”

“That you are, and that is the crux of the matter,” Adam leaned forward in his seat, his eyes focused on Kris, “You _are_ an officer and in your men’s eyes you are _their_ officer. You have thrown yourself on your sword for them and signed an accord to guarantee their continued safety, giving yourself as ransom and that is rare, incredibly so.”

Kris did not believe that it was. Had Captain Forester been here, he would surely have done the same for his men. It was men like Harte who wouldn’t, but Kris honestly, truly believed that men such as that were a distinct minority amongst the Navy.

“You exaggerate,” Kris pushed aside Adam’s words, “What I did was only what any good officer would do.”

Adam shook his head and looked up at Kris, truly looking at him and Kris could see disbelief in his eyes, “You believe that. I mean, you honestly believe that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Kris bristled slightly, expecting to be mocked.

Adam lived in a different world, a world without rules barring those _he_ set, a world of adventure and drama, just the wind and the stars to guide him on his way. Kris had duty and responsibility. He had a duty to the men to keep them safe, to protect them from tyranny or from situations for which they are not equipped. He had responsibility to the Navy to carry out his duties to the best of his ability and to serve with dignity and protect the interests of both the Navy and her Majesty, Queen Anne and to do it well. He had a responsibility to his family to uphold his family’s name and do them proud. The list seemed endless, and ordinarily he did not struggle under its weight. He woke each morning knowing what he had to do, or at least he had until the ship had been captured. Now, he was at a loose end, feeling useless, a dead weight sitting in the middle of the deck, forcing others to move around him while he was unable to do anything more than cause an obstruction.

“I have dealt with many navies in my time, not just the British, but the Dutch, the French, the Spanish to name but a few, and without doubt, the easiest way to deal with them is to separate the officers from the men, for the men cannot give a true accounting of themselves while the officers are about. They have wrapped the seamen up so tightly in red tape and rules, that one cannot see their worth until the officers have been dismissed,” Adam lifted the glass to his lips but put it down again before taking a sip. There was something in his voice akin to awe when he spoke again, “You are different. Instead of binding the men to you with regulations, you seem to nurture them to be the best they can be, lest they disappoint you, for I fear that they would find that a much harsher punishment than any lashing I or any other could give them. It is remarkable. And more remarkable still is that by your tutelage, Mister Archuleta is following in your footsteps. He has genuine friendships with the crew and he has started to hold their respect, much as you do, though not in such quantities.”

“You flatter me too much,” Kris could feel the heat on his cheeks and knew that he was blushing under Adam’s praise.

“I flatter you not at all,” Adam shook his head, “Just tell the cold facts as I see them. It would be much easier if you were like your fellows, some judicious bastard that the men were keen to escape.”

Kris frowned. He didn’t see what Adam was getting at.

“Tell me,” Adam asked, “How would the men react if they saw me assign some meaningless task to you, some lowly thing that would ordinarily be done by a deckhand? How would they see it if I gave you a mop and bucket and told you that I wanted the decks clean by sundown?”

When Kris didn’t immediately speak up, Adam answered his own question, “I’ll tell you. First it would be disharmony, idle chatter about how I need to cast you down to make sure that you know your place. No matter that it was you who requested the work. From there, it would ferment, little by little until the situation grew untenable. Crew against crew again and we would be back to how we were. I would have to take action then, and you would find yourself again bound by your agreement. Tell me, Lieutenant Allen, do you feel hale and hearty enough to take the punishments due to all of your men? Could you stand there while someone counted out lash after lash on your back? Twenty? Forty? One hundred? Two hundred?”

Adam’s voice had been rising, an unknown emotion twisted through it, but he forced himself calm again. “So do you see? You cannot be an officer aboard _The Madness_. You simply do not have the bearing of a pirate, nor the ruthlessness, and I cannot demean you by assigning you the work of an untrained seaman.”

Kris sat back in his chair, staring into the middle distance as he worked through Adam’s points, trying to find some logical loophole that he could fit through, but there were none that he could see. Adam was right. In his attempt to relieve his boredom, Kris had not stopped to think of the consequences, seeing his own misery first and everything else second.

“I did not see it that way,” Kris admitted finally.

“No,” Adam sighed, “I did not think you had. I know that it is difficult for you to be here all day with little to do, but I have reasons for my decisions, and as much as I do not want to hurt you, I had to be mindful of the crew’s reaction.” Adam stood and walked around the table to where Kris sat, perching on the table’s edge, “I have a genuine affection for you, Kris, and once we make land, I will take you out and show you the sights of New Providence. Have you ever put to port there?”

“Once,” Kris admitted, trying hard to keep his eyes on Adam’s face rather than directly ahead to where there was no doubt as to the captain’s calibre, “Once, when we had dire need of supplies. But Captain Forester ordered us to stay close to the ship, to go no further than the edge of the dock. So my knowledge of it is limited to the dry facts in the Admiralty’s records, much of which you heard on the deck during my rebuttal of Davis’ charges. It is ruled by a confederation of pirate captains and relied heavily on trade with the pirates hereabouts. I’ve heard that they have a festival celebration once a year but I do not know if that is correct.”

Adam shifted, smiling down at Kris, “Yes, it is. Once a year there is a congress where all the captains come together to decide various points of law and taxes, such that they are. They speak to their stewards who serve their interests while they are at sea and meet in a neutral venue for their deliberations. It is all very formal,” Adam remarked, waving a hand dismissively, “and the town turns out in force to welcome the returning captains. They are overly cautious when it comes to these meetings. No man can arrive before any other, less they be charged with taking advantage.”

Kris blinked, the information lining up in his mind to give a rather startling conclusion, “No man before the other... And we are sitting at anchor a half day’s sail out from port. Adam, do you mean to tell me...”

Adam cut in, affecting a bow, “Captain Adam Lambert, Pirate Governor of New Providence, at your service.”

“Good Lord!” Kris gasped, “I mean... Good Lord! How did I not...? How did the Navy not...?”

“We don’t exactly publicise our names,” Adam smiled. “Much too dangerous and well, apart from the occasional sailor stopping by in times of need, New Providence is hardly what one would call a haven for the British Navy. There are a lot of people who still remember that the English ran like scared children, leaving them to weather the Spanish and French attacks on their own. Perhaps you should see if you can find something a little less...” Adam took in Kris’ uniform with a pointed glance and while he wasn’t wearing the coat, it was still rather identifiable.

Kris blushed, “Ah yes, I suppose I should.”

Adam shifted, and Kris’ gaze dropped, rapidly rising to Adam’s face again but his cheeks burned hotly.

“We have another day here, perhaps a shade less depending on the tides and the winds, before we can head to port. But until we start in, we are keeping a wary watch on the horizons. The dates that we governors meet are widely known and well, the only way to get a seat on the confederation is for a seat to be made vacant,” Adam shrugged.

“You expect an attack?” Kris asked, worried now.

“Expect, no. But I have a feeling that we are overdue for some bad fortune,” Adam sighed, “I must rest. I have been standing watch more hours than are sound. I could not even focus on the horizon.”

“And then you had my worries to contend with when you stepped below decks.”

Adam waved the concerns aside, “It was a valid question, Kris, and one that you deserved to know the answer to.” He paused, “I know I said that I could not assign you a task, but perhaps I should amend that. I cannot assign you a task _officially_ but perhaps while I am down here getting some much needed sleep, you could visit with the men above decks and keep an unofficial watch for me. I have Brad, of course, but he has managed to set some of the crew against him with his manner. We need every man to keep his eyes on the horizon and not be distracted by a clash of wills.”

Kris could not say that he liked the first officer. Indeed it was much more accurate to say that Kris loathed the man and his superior smugness. He was still unsure whether Mister Bell’s problems were with the Navy in general or Kris in particular, but he wished that the man would cease his snide commentary. To his credit, Bell did not make his comments anywhere where he might be overheard, but it was irritating and Kris wished that he would act in a more professional manner. Even though this duty would bring him into close contact with Mister Bell, Kris was loathe to turn it down, so he nodded and assured the captain that he would.

Pushing to his feet, Kris winced as a small twinge of pain reminded him to be careful. Adam reached out to steady him, his hand snaking around to rest on Kris’ hip and Kris was staring into ocean blue eyes that seemed to sink deep into his soul. Kris’ breath caught and there was a moment that Kris swore that Adam was leaning closer as if to kiss him, but he brushed it aside and stepped back, almost tripping over the chair.

“Careful, Kris,” Adam huffed a laugh, “I don’t think Maya wants to see you before her again. How are the ribs?”

“Healing well, I believe,” Kris gave a half shrug. “There is still bruising but significantly less than there was.”

“Come find me later and I shall help you with the unguent again. We’ve neglected it for the past few days,” Adam’s words were barely understandable at the end as he yawned.

Kris stepped back a little further, his hands on his hips in imitation of Maya, “To bed, sir, this instant. No need to sleep on the dinner table when you have a bunk waiting for you. I shall be upon the deck until your return.”

Adam smiled, nodding, “I shall be asleep as soon as I lay down, I fear. But I cannot spare more than four hours, come find me then and wake me?”

Kris paused over his answer. Surely that would be Tommy’s job, would it not? Despite that thought, Kris could not bring himself to raise the question with Adam.

“Four hours, aye. I’ll come find you.”

Adam thanked him and pushed off the table. Before Kris could wish him a good rest, he was walking to his cabin, and to Kris’ shock, already stripping his shirt. Kris’ eyes played over the planes of muscles on the man’s back, smooth and flawless and with a hint of fading tan and freckles, honest-to-goodness freckles. Kris must have made a noise for Adam turned to face him, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Sleep well, Adam,” Kris managed, just.

“I shall,” Adam nodded. His fingers were reaching for the fastenings of his breeches.

Kris averted his eyes, and left the captain his privacy. He stopped in with Tommy to inform him that the Captain was resting.

“But if you could have something nourishing ready in four hours, I am sure that he will need it. Good and hearty,” Kris smiled, “Your usual excellent fare.”

Tommy assured Kris that he would and Kris made his way up to the main deck. Squinting, Kris stepped out and looked around. As was to be expected, Mister Bell was standing on the mizzen deck speaking softly to the helmsman while everyone else was engaged in whatever duties they had been assigned. Kris could tell the moment that he was spotted, for the men seemed to straighten just a fraction, watching him and ready to intercede should they need to remove the temptation of work from Kris’ path.

Kris greeted the men he recognised as he walked around the deck and was in turn introduced to others who tipped caps or inclined their heads in acknowledgement. The patter of feet behind him made him turn and Samuel came to a rather sudden stop beside him, beaming up at Kris.

Kris scruffed the lad’s hair, “Afternoon Samuel. I trust that you have been keeping out of trouble.”

“Oh yes sir,” Samuel nodded enthusiastically, “I’ve been learning all sorts of things. Mister Cook had me up in the crow’s nest yesterday. It’s ever so high up there and I was so scared but I did it and I managed to get myself down again afterwards but Mister Cook was with me the whole time and and and...”

The boy paused to take a breath and Kris smiled, “Watch your footing when you’re coming down and keep both hands on the rigging. Those were the words of wisdom that I got given by my father before I climbed my very first time. Mind those words well, Samuel.”

“I will, Mister Allen,” Samuel nodded solemnly.

“Now, how about you and I go to the bow and you can show me how your knots are coming along.”

Samuel raced ahead, getting his length of rope ready.

Archie fell in beside Kris as he walked, “Good afternoon, Mister Allen. Good to see you out and about.”

“I fancied a breath of air, Archie. It does a body no good to be below decks on a fine day such as this, so I thought I’d spend a while sitting by the bowsprit and take in a little sun.” Kris turned to face him, “Are you free for an hour or two or do you have duties to attend to?”

“I can spare a while,” Archie grinned.

Kris nodded and continued on to the bowsprit, sitting himself down and getting comfortable. With Archie beside him and Samuel at their feet, Kris managed to get himself caught up on everything that had been happening below decks and away from the eyes of the captain and his senior crew; everything that the men had been so busy trying to hide from Kris. Kris had gotten frustrated and walked away after his tenth failed attempt. He missed conversations like this and was glad of Archie’s company. Thankfully, there was nothing serious, nothing that he felt it necessary to pass onto Adam, just the usual scuffles that were easily sorted by one of the other crewmen.

“And you, Kris?” Archie asked, his voice low, so low that Kris doubted that even Samuel could hear the words. “How are you? We’ve not seen much of you. The crew’s been worried.”

“I’m well, Archie, and better every day. I’ll admit that for the first week and more I did little else but sleep thanks to the concoctions that Maya provided for the pain, but everything seems to be healing well. The captain and I had a minor disagreement earlier about my level of involvement with the day to day running of the ship. I thought that I should be assigned to duty, and the captain disagreed. We’ve come to an understanding now.” Kris smiled as he watched Samuel tie a bowline knot, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated, “We should be making port in a day or two.”

“Has he told you what the delay is?” Archie asked.

“Precautionary,” Kris answered non-committally. “Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s got the men worried here. And there are rumours abounding,” confided Archie.

Kris nodded, “Tell the lads that it’s just a matter of course and that there’s no need to be concerned. I’ve raised it with the captain and had his assurances on that, but as we are sitting here we are still vulnerable to any passers-by so to keep a weather watch.”

“Aye, sir,” Archie nodded.

The conversation progressed with both men pointing out Samuel’s errors to him and helping him with the various knots. The bowline seemed to be the trickiest for him to master until Kris shared the rhyme that Kris had been taught when he’d been about the same age. No sooner than Samuel had completed his first correct bowline than Archie was called to explain a notation he’d made in one of the books and Samuel was needed elsewhere, leaving Kris alone on the bowsprit, watching the waves.

Others came up to him, a mix of men from both sides of the crew, asking advice and listening to what Kris said. Somewhere along the line, he’d become an authority on everything from blisters to barnacles and even matters of the heart – not that he had much to share there. Kris didn’t get the feeling that the men were doing this to keep him from work as they had been doing before, but rather because they invited his opinion and valued it. Kris, for his part, made no distinction between the men’s backgrounds and listened to their problems with an open mind. All the time he kept an eye on the horizon but there were no other vessels to be seen, neither hint of sails nor any other sign and Kris made his way back below decks shortly before the six o’clock bell was due to ring.

Kris opened the door to the wardroom as silently as he could and made his way from there to the cabin beyond, hardly daring to draw breath. As he pulled open the door, he saw Adam sprawled out, sleeping peacefully. He hadn’t bothered to put on a nightshirt, choosing to sleep bare-chested and as he moved, Kris was surprised to see a flash of bare skin below the sheet.

As Kris watched Adam moved again, lying now on his back, but the sheet appeared to be caught under him, not following his movements and leaving a large strip uncovered all along his hip. Pale skin was visible down to his toes, and Kris was agog. The man was naked under the covers, with not so much as a stitch on him to preserve his modesty. Kris tried but he could not tear his eyes from Adam’s long limbs and his mind filled with a thousand and one villainous things that he would like to do to the man stretched out before him. Though he pushed the images back, he could not completely dismiss them.

He had seen men naked before. He was not so innocent as that, but it had been nothing like this. His heart had not raced, nor was his breathing stuttered. Catching sight of a man's leg should _not_ do this to him. But he was captivated.

In his mind’s eye, he saw himself running a finger over the flesh laid out so temptingly in front of him, and following it with his mouth. Long lean muscles, twitching slightly as he touched them, tracing over the fine hair. Adam would groan as he did it, base and guttural and it would be hot enough to consume the fires of Hell itself. Kris felt himself stirring in his breeches and swallowed hard. His fingers would trace up over the hip bone to the abdomen, sculpted by the manual labour necessary aboard a ship, and then down again and dipping beneath the sheet to the man’s quiescent prick, heavy even as it rested against his thigh, bringing it to life with his touch.

Kris was appalled by the images his mind supplied, and he ached to make them a reality while damning himself for the sin. Where had these images come from? What temptation was this? Kris closed his eyes and prayed for guidance, prayed for fortitude, just prayed, but under his fingers he could feel warmth and heat and so much more, and the groan this time was not solely in his mind.

Kris’ eyes snapped open and he pulled back as if burned, and surely he was, for the touch left a ghostly impression that he was sure no waters could quench. Damn this man for being so tempting, and damn Kris for his lack of virtue. Kris resolved to cover Adam, thinking that perhaps if he was no longer visible, that the images would retreat back from whence they came. Deep inside his mind, the part of him that was his logic and his reason mocked him for hoping such thoughts, now unstoppered, could ever again be contained.

Kris pulled at the sheet, a gentle tug but it did not move. A harder tug this time but still nothing, and Kris almost gave it up as a lost cause. One last attempt, and Kris yanked on the sheets. They came free this time and so did Adam, rolling away from the disturbance and straight down onto the floor. Kris, for his part in this, was rewarded with an unobstructed view of everything the captain had to offer and was left quite speechless. Gold glinted in the light and Kris dropped his gaze south to where a ring pierced through Adam’s most sensitive flesh. The man matched the images in Kris’ mind and more, eclipsing them so totally that Kris wondered if he should apologise for doing Adam a disservice.

Adam blinked up, still affected by sleep, and smiled dopily at Kris. It took a second before he realised that he was on the floor and by that time, Kris had dropped the sheet to cover Adam’s particulars.

“Do you often make a habit of sleeping on the floor, Captain,” Kris asked, trying for joking but his throat was dry and he was sure that Adam would know the depravities to which he’d sunk just by looking at him.

“Not generally,” Adam yawned, stretching. “It has been four hours?”

Kris nodded, “And a little more.”

“Damn, I could have slept for twenty more and still be tired, I fear. I feel as if I only just closed my eyes,” Adam struggled to his feet, holding the sheet in front of him, “Could you ask Tommy if he could prepare something, please? I find myself quite hungry.”

“I asked him before I stepped up onto the deck,” Kris assured him, “He should be ready to serve any moment.”

“Well, I should...” he gestured to his state of dress and Kris blushed bright red again.

“Of course and I should...” Kris pointed to the door and then left, fast as he could.

Tommy was out in the ward room, setting two places. Thankfully, his back was to Kris and Kris could take a moment to compose himself and try to calm the fires that burned within.

He wasn’t sure what had come over him but whatever it was, it had shaken Kris to his core. He was Christian and strong in his faith. Never had he lost control of his mind or his body like that or been taken with a lust so strong that it left him gasping for breath. He could still feel the tremors of _want-need-feel_ running through him and he had no inkling how to deal with them. He settled in his usual chair, trying to puzzle it out but no answers were forthcoming.

He wasn’t prone to lust, indeed, he hadn’t stirred to this degree and with this speed since his youth. But through hard work and through training his mind, he had rid himself of that reaction. As the saying went, idle hands tempt the devil, and so he had not given himself any moment to give into carnal pleasures. He’d avoided the bawdy houses in the ports they visited, choosing instead to visit with family or apprise himself of the latest developments at the local Admiralty office or to chat with the harbour master. Indeed, while his men, and the other officers, sated themselves, Kris often took their watches, leaving them free to spend a few more hours in the port, or gave extra lessons to the powder monkeys, speeding them on their way to being full deck hands, or tutored the junior officers assigned watch while their seniors worked through the tension of the trip.

He had known that he would marry, and indeed known who he would marry since an early age. Katy was his closest friend outside the Navy, and he relished her company. She had an insightful wit and was a wonderfully warm person, but it was only friendship that they shared. He had never felt that spark between them, nor half the attraction he now felt for Adam.

Kris knew that some of the men, the ones with high ardour, found forgotten corners with each other and engaged in acts best not thought about, finding relief together, and the Navy with its harshly imposed rules and morals echoed the Christian beliefs. It was wrong. Unnatural. Something to be punished. But Kris did not know if he agreed with that. Certainly he had caught men engaged in trysts below decks but rather than report them to the captain for discipline, he had given them a warning to be more circumspect next time and sent them on their way with enough tasks to do to keep them happily engaged for the rest of the day. He’d left it at that.

Contrary to the teachings of scripture and the preachers, it seemed wrong to separate love out and say that one kind was right and another was wrong. Surely all judgements should be made by the Lord and Him alone? Who were mortal men to cast stones as long as both parties were of age and consenting?

Kris thought, really thought, about what had happened putting aside the moralisation for a moment. He’d seen Adam unclothed and liked what he saw. Indeed, he’d been so taken with the image that he’d laid hands upon the man and enjoyed it, and that simple-complicated fact was shaking him to his foundations.

“Mister Allen?” Tommy was by his shoulder, looking concerned.

Kris blinked up at him.

“I asked if you felt well, sir. You seem flushed. Should I call Maya?”

Kris shook his head, “No, Tommy. I’m well. Just too much sun today possibly. No need to trouble her over such a trifling matter. I’m not sure I could take her sharp wit today.”

Adam pushed open the door to his chamber and stepped forward. He was dressed now, presentable in his customary white breeches and shirt. Kris looked away as he felt his cheeks heat up again.

“Good evening gentlemen,” Adam smiled widely, taking his seat. He looked at Kris, “I hope that your time on deck was productive.”

“Yes, Captain, very much so,” Kris’ voice was low, and Adam frowned at him, “I sat with one of the lads, teaching him knots. He’s coming along but some give him trouble. Complicated, you understand?”

He could feel Adam’s gaze but simply watched Tommy serve the food. Kris was sure that it was fine fare but he did not taste it that evening, so focused was he on his current dilemma.

Adam waited until Tommy had withdrawn before expressing concern, “Kris, are you well?”

“A little fatigued,” Kris lied. “Nothing to engage the surgeons for, I assure you.”

Adam didn’t appear to believe him but got no chance to raise the issue as a harsh and persistent knock came on the door at that very second.

“Come!”

The door was swung open widely and Cale stepped forward. His eyes went for Adam first, missing Kris entirely, and Kris tried not to feel slighted, “Captain, sails spotted. Black by the look of them. The men have been ordered to stations. Permission to raise anchor and bring her to full sail just in case?”

Adam was on his feet, his meal forgotten at the pronouncement, “Aye, raise anchor. Tell the chiefs to ready the guns, chain shot for the upper deck and regular shot for below that. Can we see the colours yet?”

“No sir, but we’ve got men watching her carefully. Soon as we know, Captain, I’ll send a man...”

“No need,” Adam cut in, “I’m coming now.”

“Aye sir,” Cale nodded, “Captain, Lieutenant, if you’ll excuse me.”

Adam nodded and Cale left. Adam was already half way to the door by the time Kris was on his feet, trailing after the Captain. Adam stopped in the doorway and turned to face Kris, “Apologies that I must cut our meal short. I’ll send someone down with updates when I have them. My swords are in that chest over there,” he pointed to a large oak chest at the corner of the room, “Keep this door locked and if anyone not from our crew comes through the door, do not hesitate.”

Kris’ jaw dropped, and before he could begin to form a reply, the Captain was gone, pulling the door shut behind him. And just like that all lustful thought disappeared, replaced instantly by an anger that took Kris by surprise.

“My swords are in the chest,” Kris mimicked the man, mocking him even though he was not in earshot. “Do not hesitate. Why no, Captain, I thought I’d dance a waltz with them, or maybe a pavane, or possibly a minuet should they know the steps. Damn you, man, devil take you, you arrogant bastard! I am not some child who does not know how to defend himself,” Kris thumped his fist against the door, “How dare you tell me how to fight!”

Kris pulled open the door, ready to stalk upon the deck and say his piece to the Captain and damn the consequences, but coming down the corridor towards him were Archie, whose face had to be a mirror of Kris’ own, and Samuel. Samuel had a dagger clutched to his bosom and it almost drew Kris from his fury, for the lad was holding it as if his life depended on it. He could imagine that, to get him off the deck, someone had told the lad that his job was to defend Kris and Archie. It was what Kris would do to get the lad to comply, but in his current mood, it was yet another sign that he was being seriously underestimated.

Archie nodded to Kris and waited for Kris to step out of the doorway before stepping in. Archie turned to Samuel, “Samuel, can you go to the Captain’s stores and see if you can find some more food for us. We may be some time and once we lock the door, there’s to be no going out. Best do it now, lad.”

Samuel nodded gravely and continued down to Tommy’s pantry, no doubt raiding the shelves for everything he could. Archie pulled the door closed, and Kris had to admit to a measure of curiosity.

“The deck is no place for a clerk, I was told,” Archie’s voice was dangerously low and took Kris a little by surprise. He had never imagined to hear such venom from Archie. “I was to be locked in the bursary until Cook asked after you, not seeing you on deck, and I was assigned to this cabin for the duration. Honestly, what right have they to say that the lowliest deckhand has more right to stand on deck than I do? I was trained, by God, and am the superior of any of those fools with a sword.”

“What right?” Kris asked bitterly, “It is his ship. He stole her out from under us by cowardly deeds and duplicitous means. I feel your frustrations, though I had less of an explanation. From the conversation earlier that I had with Captain Lambert, to have me on deck would confuse the men. Confuse the men? Does he think them of so little intelligence?” Kris’ anger started to rise again, “When Cale came to tell the Captain, there was no discussion, just a hurried word that I should stay here, and – are you hearing this? – not hesitate to defend myself. It is suddenly as if I am a weak and feeble child and not a Lieutenant in her Majesty’s Navy. By God, I have served more time on a ship than a goodly portion of the men on board. What a nerve he has telling me, us, to stay below!”

Archie looked at Kris, his head tilted slightly, “And yet that is what we will do.”

Kris paused at the resigned tone and shook his head, “You may, but I am of a mind to march straight up to the deck and take my place.”

“And where is your place?” Archie asked, curious.

“Wherever I choose to make it!” Kris replied. He was fired up and furious, so lost in his words that not even Archie’s measured tones were getting through. “Master of the Madness, hah! Master of what? He thinks that he is the specimen of manhood, well, hah! I say. Hah! Walking around the decks like he owns them, cutting a fine figure in breeches so tight that every man can tell the size of his weapon, like he needs us to know that he can put stallions to shame. It’s not decent I tell you. Not decent at all!”

Kris took to pacing, back and forth the length of the room, watching the door as he turned each time, as if glaring at it would summon the man here to account for his actions.

“I can’t say that I have ever noticed,” Archie said after a while.

“What?” Kris turned on him, demanding an answer.

“The Captain, sir, I can’t say that I’ve ever noticed the cut of his breeches.”

Kris stopped dead in his tracks, levelling a malevolent gaze on Archie, “Make sense man, what are you talking about?”

“Your comments, Lieutenant, on the Captain’s indecency,” his eyes flashed to the door and back to Kris, “I said that I have never had cause to notice what the Captain chooses to wear, most especially his breeches, sir. They are white and fit him well enough I suppose, but as to your other point, the point of comparison, I have never had cause to see. Perhaps, sir, if you’ll pardon my forwardness, we should have a conversation on certain matters.”

“Conversation...?” Kris blinked. The actual words of his rant were lost but the memory of the subject remained. Kris’ cheeks flushed, and he started to get annoyed with himself over his propensity to blush at the slightest provocation, “No... No need, Archie, but thank you for the offer. Heat of the moment and all that. Meant nothing by it. Just angry at our incarceration here.”

Archie perched on the edge of the table, folding his arms. His gaze did not leave Kris’ and Kris had to use every ounce of willpower to keep himself still.

“On the day you signed the accord with Captain Lambert, you sat here and told us to call you Kris, like we were equals and I did. Please take what I am about to say in that same spirit. I don’t have a great many friends in life: owing to my Uncle’s role, my confinement to the Admiralty for practically the whole of my career and the scandal that my father left in his wake when he decided to take up with a seamstress and leave my mother holding a newborn out on the streets.” Kris made to say something but Archie cut him off, holding up a hand, “But what friends I do have are precious to me. You will most likely not be surprised to know that I consider you a friend, Kris, and I do not like to see my friends hurt. Whatever you have, whatever relationship you are developing with the Captain, you should be careful. He is a much more worldly man than you and I worry that he might be manipulating you...”

Kris opened his mouth to deny that anything was happening but the door to the room opened and Samuel burst through carrying enough food for any army you might care to mention. Archie helped him deposit it on the table and thanked him.

“Weapons now, Samuel,” he said gently, “See if you can find some weapons for us. We should be able to help you if you are called on to defend us.” He scruffed the lad’s hair, “Pistols and swords, Samuel if you please, or whatever you can find.”

Samuel was off again, running to fetch what Archie had requested. Kris frowned. He had seen hints of this Archie before, after he had signed the accord but before he could nourish this side of him, it had vanished behind the exuberance Archie showed for every task to which he was assigned. Doubtless, he had played the politics game while he worked in the Admiralty but before him now sat a man and one who had sound advice to offer. He had the same voice, the same sincere tone as Archie, but his bearing had shifted to one of more confidence and Kris was astonished at the change.

“Unless I miss my guess,” he spoke softly, “You have not had any liaisons with a member of your own sex. By the rumours on the ship, the Captain, is neither chaste nor is he particularly secretive about his affairs...”

Kris blushed bright pink again and burst in over Archie’s words, “I do not know what you are implying, Archie, but there is nothing of that nature – Nothing! – going on. What the Captain and I share is a platonic relationship and nothing more than that. He’s an interesting conversationalist and plays a good game of chess but that is it!”

Archie looked at him for an unending moment, simply shrugging, “As you will. But as they say, my door is always open should you wish to talk, not that I have a door but you do understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, Archie, I understand, but I shan’t need to bother you about such matters,” Kris shook his head. He looked beyond Archie to the food still sitting on the table, rapidly cooling, “We should eat. Be a shame to waste it. Tommy is an excellent cook.”

Archie waited a moment, hovering on the verge of saying something but deciding against it at the last second, and nodded. Kris gestured towards a chair, not Adam’s, and Archie sat, leaning in to smell the delicious food. Kris’ stomach growled and he tucked in. He put some of the meaty chunks aside for Samuel, and some of the bread. Lord knew how long they were going to be waiting for something to happen and best they eat while they could.

Samuel returned just as they were finishing up, clutching a bundle of pistols and the various equipment necessary for their use, along with some swords. Kris smiled and set them out on the table, starting to go through each and ensure that it was well cleaned and loaded. He had the feeling that before the night was through that they would need it.

Kris poured himself a half-glass of claret and then poured the same for Archie and half that for Samuel. He ignored Archie’s raised eyebrow. His familiarity with the Captain’s alcohols was purely the result of too much time spent staring at the walls of the ward room and nothing else.

The bell rang to mark eight and Kris finally coaxed a tired Samuel off to sleep in the Captain’s cabin. He was considering going up to the main deck and seeing about the state of things but knew that doing so would just get him herded back down here and this time a guard would be placed. The very same had happened during his convalescence, and Kris did not want to suffer the ignominy of that.

Nine bells rang and shots rang out. Kris ran to the window and stared out over the ocean, catching the splash as the shot went wide. Whoever was out there was finding range. Wouldn’t be long now. He could hear orders drifting down, muffled shouts lacking distinct words but he could picture clearly what had to be happening on deck. Now, above them, men would be manning the guns, watching and waiting for the order to fire. Others would make sure that everyone had a means by which to defend themselves and the officers were watching, waiting for that perfect moment, that one second when their opponent was in range and they could...

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A cacophony of sound rocked the room and Kris felt the ship lurch slightly as the guns fired, starboard side, _his_ side. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds above, listening for the distinctive sound of wheels on the timber and then a second later, the booming crash as the cannon discharged it’s load and then on to the next one. Sounds overlapped, and he counted the seconds until they were firing again. His hands were twitching and someone, him, was whispering out the commands.

Answering retorts came from the other ship and the ship shuddered as one struck close enough to catch them in the wake. Kris cursed, trying to work out from how the ship reacted where it had fallen, which side. The shouts from above decks were louder now, and Kris’ hands clenched as he listened, helpless to do anything. Archie was no better, hovering near the door, and pacing restlessly.

The ship rocked again, harder this time, and Kris had to brace against the wall to save from toppling. He turned to face Archie, worried, “That was a hit. A solid hit.”

Archie was less sure but Kris grabbed a sword and a brace of pistols, shoving them inside the waistband of his breeches and made for the door.

“Kris...” Archie reached out to stop him but Kris threw off his arm.

“With me or against me, Archie, I don’t mean to consign myself to a wreck while there is still something I can do to prevent it.”

Archie nodded and rushed to grab a blade but Kris was already leaving. The deck was the very definition of chaos with men floundering as they struggled to work together. Adam was on the mizzen deck, shouting orders up to the rigging and the men were setting the sails, readying themselves for when the helmsman made to come about.

Mister Bell was down amongst the men, supposedly getting the gun crews on track but he was merely threatening them in an effort to meld the two crews who were currently at odds. Why should they not be? No drills had been run to the best of his knowledge and how the men worked were completely different. Even before him, he could see one of the gun crews, who had been left to their own devices, arguing instead of reloading.

Kris was there in an instant and pushing the men apart, “Damn your eyes, now is _not_ the time. Get that shot in that cannon now and prepare to fire.” Kris looked around, “Bell, to me.”

Bell looked his way and skittered across the deck, “What are you doing? The captain left instructions...”

Kris had no time for this, “Damn his instructions. I’ll answer for my presence here later, but I will not allow you to ruin a perfectly good ship. Now answer me, where are we hit?”

“Above the waterline,” Bell answered, pointing to the stern.

Kris nodded, “Send one of the port side gun crews down to assess and report back.” Bell hesitated a moment but Kris narrowed his eyes, “We can go for each other’s throats after we have won this battle, but for now, just follow my advice. I’m taking over the gun crews.”

Bell pulled a man to him, “Send one of the port side crews to assess the damage to the stern and be quick about it.”

Kris rolled his eyes but turned from the man, his attention on the failing gun crews, “Attention on me, men. You made your first shots and lucky you did, but since then, only four crews have fired. That is not acceptable. I thought reloading was a simple job but obviously I was wrong. You _will_ do better!”

He looked over the men, “Right, every second cannon is to load chain shot. Everyone else to load normal shot, starting with the furthest forward.”

One man challenged him, “But the Capt’n said...”

Kris was on the man in an instant, slamming him against the railings, “That was when he assumed that you could work out which end of a cannon was which. Which crew are you assigned to?”

The man gestured to a cannon and Kris quickly worked out that he was one assigned to standard shot.

“Get to your crews. Each man take a job and do it. Rum for the first crew to reload, fire and hit our opponent!”

Kris walked the line, shouting individual orders to each crew and keeping an eye on them. Archie stepped to his side and Kris quickly redirected him to work with the portside crews, preparing them for when they came around.

He saw two of the men struggling to lift a cannonball and fumble it. The ball dropped and rolled straight off the side. Kris was in their faces before they straightened, “Did I just see that? Do it again and I’ll toss you over the side to retrieve it, understand?”

It went smoother after that, but Kris was watching them closely, stepping in when they needed an extra man. It wasn’t long until a cheer went up as the first shot connected, ripping out a section of the other ship’s side and disabling one of their cannon. Smoke filled the air now and the cannon fired rhythmically and the sound was Heaven to Kris’ ears. He could feel Adam’s eyes upon him but he ignored the man. There would be time enough later.

The enemy were sliding past, out of range, Kris watched them go, hoping to catch sight of a name or something that would give him a clue as to the ships identity and he did. On the back sat a plaque with “ _La Mort et Victoire_ ” emblazoned on it in flowing cursive. Kris recognised the name instantly. Though not nearly as famous as _The Madness_ , the Mort et Victoire had managed to cut a swath through the seas around the British coast before following the British Navy over to the colonies and drifting down into the Caribbean. A privateer by contract, Alexander Dalzeel was ruthless with his quarry and _La Mort_ would be more than a match for this untried, untested crew.

Kris moved to Archie’s side and saw that the midshipman had noticed the name also and paled slightly as he glanced from his gun crews to the ship and then to Kris. Kris patted his shoulder as he watched the men, shouting guidance where it was needed. They had been lucky so far, but _La Mort_ was closing in tighter this time and every shot would count. Archie had them divided, with alternating crews of navy trained and pirate men to ease the confusion.

“Half and half again, Archie,” Kris called, “have the men with chain shot aim high. Let’s take out the masts. Maximum damage and cripple her if we can.”

“Aye, sir,” Archie snapped to and Kris walked the line, checking that everything was set.

“They’re coming around men,” Kris called, “Get ready. All shots that hit are good shots. Aim true and we’ll celebrate tonight!”

The men were focused on their tasks, working well now that they had supervision. Kris held his sword high, waiting until _La Mort_ was in range before dropping it, and at his signal they unleashed Hell itself on the ship.

“Good, men, good! Like that again. Quickly now,” Kris looked around and saw Samuel coming above deck, wiping his eyes, “Samuel, to stores. More powder.” The lad rushed off and Kris called to the starboard crew, “Ready yourselves while you have the chance. If we don’t sink her now, she’ll be coming around again.”

They hopped to. _La Mort_ ’s helmsman spun the wheel and she started a dangerous line, and one surely destined to bring about a collision.

“Captain, she’s spinning,” Kris called up to Adam and Adam acknowledged with a nod.

“Boarding parties to the ready,” Adam called out, cupping his hand around his mouth. “Brad, prepare yourself.”

Bell called for his men to assemble and they checked their weapons. Kris called the distance and Bell made ready. Ropes were strung up and tied off securely, ready for use. Calling the starboard side crew to him, Kris put them to use preparing the boarding planks.

Kris’ body sang with tension as he called out “fifty feet, forty, thirty, prepare yourselves. Twenty. Ten.”

On ten, the boards were set down and Kris stepped back letting the men surge forward. He spurred his men on, “Damn it men, you can’t miss, fire at everything you can.”

The ships collided and _The Madness_ lurched and rocked and Kris had to hold onto the railings to keep from being thrown overboard. Pressed side by side at the port bow, any man who was free jumped across, hoping to see his share of the action but Kris stayed with his crew, encouraging them on.

Archie drew his sword and stepped to Kris’ side again, “Good fortune and good luck.”

“And the same to you, Mister Archuleta,” Kris saluted him, “It’s been a pleasure.”

Kris braced as one of The Madness’s crew was pushed back and forced over the ships railing only to be crushed between the timbers and one of the Privateer’s men jumped across, intent on eliminating as many of the gun crews as he could but Kris met him first and swept at him with his sword. The man dodged back but Kris pressed forward, catching him below his guard and splitting him open. A cheer rose from the men behind him, but Kris had no time to take his bow before another privateer hurled himself across and then another. With Archie at his side, he fought well, dealing blow after deadly blow until his arm ached from it.

From his periphery, Kris spotted a brute of a man, easily twice Kris’ size, stepping forward and vaulting the railings as if it were nothing more than a step. The giant grabbed one of the men by his head and smashed him against the mizzen stairs as he made his way up. Adam and what few others remained up there were fighting a hard battle. Adam had his back to the stairs and Kris blanched. Quickly dispatching the man he was engaged with, Kris whistled to Archie and pointed back towards the mizzen deck. With a nod, Archie moved to cover his retreat and Kris ran, fast as he was able to get to the mizzen deck.

He vaulted the steps two at a time and skidded to a stop behind the man. The man was on Adam now, lifting him off his feet and attempting to crush him. Adam fought, kicking even as he struggled for breath. Kris slashed out at the man’s back but the man seemed not to notice even when the blood seeped through his torn shirt and he made no move to release Adam, just growled and squeezed tighter.

Kris hacked, using his blade as a machete, and went for the man’s tree-trunk like legs. He must have caught the hamstring because the man toppled and Adam managed to wiggle free, ending the fight with a gunshot that put the man down for good.

Adam inclined his head, “Lieutenant Allen.”

Kris gave an answering bow, a smile playing on his lips, “Captain Lambert.”

Adam gestured to the rest of the ship, “Shall we?”

Kris rolled his eyes and turned back to the fighting. The rest of the fight was short but brutal and but surrender didn’t come until Captain Dalzeel himself had a sword to his throat and ordered his men to throw down their weapons. Kris sheathed his sword as Adam stepped over to take the surrender personally but his eyes never left _La Mort_ , watching for some underhanded tactic, but nothing came.

Kris made his way back below after checking on Archie and the men of his gun crew and helping with the clean-up. Cale was seeing to the repairs already and Bell was reasserting his authority on deck, ordering the men to do what they were already doing.

Adrenaline still raced through his system and he couldn’t keep from moving. He hadn’t been banished back to the ward room this time, but there was no role for him now that the fighting had stopped. He walked back and forth across the cabin, waiting for the Captain’s return. He picked up books and put them aside just as fast. He couldn’t settle. Not with tension quivering in the air, an unresolved conflict burning steadily and drawing closer.

It was an hour or more before the door was thrown open, bouncing off the timbers to almost close again, only Adam’s hand keeping it from slamming shut. He stepped through and Kris shivered at the look in his eye. He was similarly afflicted, humming with energy. There was a storm brewing here in the cabin, Kris could feel it and he itched for it.

“I ordered you to stay,” Adam started.

“I am not a pet to be kept kennelled. The ship was in trouble. It was all hands to the decks,” Kris replied.

“You arrogant...” Adam bit out the words and stepped into the room.

“How are your ribs?” Kris poked the other man, stepping closer.

Adam needled back, “How are yours?”

“Ungrateful...”

“Insolent...”

“How dare you!” Both men spoke the words, toe to toe and glaring daggers at each other.

They panted, sharing each other’s air and then they collided. The kiss, if it could be called that for it was more a battle of lips and teeth, was every bit as brutal as the fight above deck had been, with only the smallest measure of grace. Then Adam cupped Kris’ cheek, taking charge, guiding him and Kris melted into the kiss. The sparks of passion flared and Kris’ hands were pulling loose Adam’s shirt and finding their way under it to trace the lines of his abdomen. Adam bit at Kris’ lip and then deepened the kiss again until there was nothing but them in the world.

It was Kris who pulled back, or at least he thought it was, and he sucked in air like a drowning man. His heart was racing and he struggled to calm himself enough to talk, but that was not a problem for the moment for he had not enough sense for words, never mind sentences.

Adam leaned back against the table, looking for all the world like a predator who had just found the perfect meal. Kris grew nervous and his bravado started to fade back into the depths.

“That was...” he racked his brains for a word but none came except, “...nice.”

Adam’s smirk grew wider and he chuckled at Kris.

“Yes, well... I should...” Kris took a step backwards towards the door.

Adam reached out a hand to Kris and said one simple word, “Stay.”

And the Good Lord help him, he did.


	10. New Experiments, Opened Eyes

  


  


  
_10th June 1710  
Estimated 6 Leagues from New Providence_   


Kris had been an innocent to sex of any type. Hand-holding had been as far as he had ventured until, high on adrenaline and with his passions running free, he had taken Adam’s hand and followed him into his cabin.

Adam pulled him close and they were kissing again, with Adam leading this time. His hands buried in Kris’ hair, holding him steady while Adam plundered his mouth. Kris’ knees shuddered and his hands found Adam’s shirt, grasping tight. And then Adam moved, kissing and nuzzling his way to Kris’ jawline and further down until he came to bite at the tender skin on his throat. Kris moaned, he could not restrain himself, did not want to restrain himself, and he tilted his head back, allowing Adam all the access he needed. Kris’ eyes were long since closed as he relished the feelings and sensations wracking him and causing him to harden but he wanted more.

Releasing his death grip on Adam’s shirt, Kris’ hands started exploring the hard planes of muscle hidden away under the shirt, sliding down until he could lift the cotton enough to slide his fingers under. Adam was warm, burning up with a heat that seared through Kris' veins in turn. Adam broke the contact just long enough to pull off his shirt and leave Kris full access to everything he desired.

Adam was tanned, wonderfully so, a golden Adonis just waiting to be touched. Kris’ fingers skimmed over Adam’s skin, tracing every inch until they found his hard, pebbled nipples and Adam groaned at the touch. Kris grew bolder, plucking at the hard nubs and then drawing away again as Adam leaned closer. Adam’s hands were tugging on Kris’ shirt, pulling it free so that he could explore the uncharted territories that lay beneath and Kris did not pull back.

Adam played his body with exquisite care, giving him such delicious torture as his hands caressed Kris’ chest. Then his shirt was gone and Kris was bare to the world and Adam. But he did not feel self-conscious. No, indeed he was cherished.

Adam reached out and took his hand again, and this time he led him to the bunk, their bunk. Kris sat down, with Adam sitting beside him. He was nervous, he could recognise that, but curiosity was rising also, bringing him to new heights and _that_ was what Kris embraced.

They kissed, Kris throwing himself into it. Adam’s hands were still walking over his skin, teasing, touching, setting him on fire, and then they were moving lower to graze his manhood. Kris started at that first touch and Adam pulled back, his eyes questioning but Kris reassured him by guiding the captain's hand back into place. The contact made him shiver. Adam smiled down at him and Kris felt his cheeks heat. He buried his face in Adam’s shoulder as the captain stroked him through the breeches that Kris still wore. Kris threw back his head and made no effort to hold back the breathless sounds that Adam wrung so skilfully from him.

Adam kept that up for a minute, an hour, all eternity before he pulled back. Kris made an inarticulate protest at the loss. Adam smirked fondly down at him, leaning in to press a quick kiss against Kris’ lips before he slid off the bunk and onto the floor in front of him. Kris frowned and reached out to pull Adam closer up but Adam had other ideas. Strong hands pushed Kris’ knees further apart and Adam slotted in neatly between the V of his legs. Kris was lost as to what the man was doing until Adam rubbed his cheek against Kris’ covered prick. Kris could feel the warm breath against his thighs and against his prick. He cried out when Adam mouthed at the fabric. A second later and Adam was stripping away his breeches. Another moment and Kris could feel the chill air surround him as his undergarments were deftly removed.

Kris bit his lip, feeling nervous. He watched Adam as Adam watched him and shivering occasionally as Adam’s breath blew over his exposed prick. Then, keeping his gaze with Kris, Adam leaned forward and licked a long swipe up Kris’ shaft. Kris bucked wildly, unable to keep his hips on the bunk and Adam laughed. Kris glared and Adam did it again, laughing delightedly as Kris' eyes rolled back. And again. And again. And Kris was lost in the wonderful, wonderful feelings. The very core of him trembled and Kris’ hands came to knot in Adam’s hair. Adam smirked, Kris could feel it against his most sensitive skin, and took him in his mouth. Kris arched off the bunk but Adam’s hands pushed him back down, holding him firm as he worked his mouth on Kris’ prick. Kris was lost in seconds and babbled incoherent sounds that were not even words to his own mind.

He felt his body tighten and there was a feeling deep down at his core that he had never felt before, of pressure and pleasure and something more. He tried to warn Adam, tried to make him pull back while pulling him closer but Adam just swallowed him deeper and Kris saw stars, exploding into Adam’s mouth. Adam held him there as the last of his release spurted out and then licked him clean.

Kris looked down into Adam’s face, stunned, but Adam simply used a thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth and smiled up at Kris. He was by his side on the bunk a second later and kissing him again, but this time the kisses tasted of something else besides Adam, there was a strange taste there, salty and slightly bitter and Kris knew that he was tasting his own essence. The flavour was strange but not unpleasant and Kris licked his lips. He looked up when Adam made a throaty sound and felt the tingle of desire spark to fire at the heat in Adam's eyes.

Kris made to drop to his knees and return the gesture but Adam held him firm, “Time enough for that later. There are other pleasures I want to show you first.”

Kris had to admit that Archie had been correct. Adam had a wealth of worldly experience and did not hesitate in sharing it with Kris, being a most able tutor in the field. Kris would have liked to think that he was an enthusiastic pupil, but in truth he was stunned by the sheer breath of Adam’s knowledge. Hands, lips and Adam’s tongue had covered every inch of his body and left him screaming in want and need but Adam hadn’t left him long on the edge. He’d reciprocated to the best of his ability and quite an education that had been. He’d heard before of the custom of dressing rings but never thought to see one so close, nor imagined the more pleasurable uses of such an ornament. He didn’t have even a fraction of Adam’s skill and was thoroughly wrought when he tried to take him inside, but with Adam’s guidance, he managed and Adam had cried out his name at the climax.

From there, things had only gotten better. He came undone under Adam's avid attentions an uncounted number of times, his fingers finding purchase on Adam’s back as he was carried to the greatest heights of pleasure. Eventually, they found sleep together, Kris tucked in against Adam with the man’s arms firmly around him.

Morning though was an experience that Kris did not enjoy nearly so much. He was stiff and sore and aching in places that he didn’t know _could_ ache. Regardless, he refused to regret a single moment of the previous night.

Breakfast was an unremarkable affair, with Tommy serving both of them as usual. Kris relaxed a fraction when Tommy passed no remarks and Kris realised that his loss of innocence did not serve as some noticeable beacon, drawing attention to it. He continued in this optimistic delusion until Mister Bell stepped into the room and took in the scene. It was a slow process, with Bell looking from one to the other of them and then breaking out into a knowing smirk.

Whatever Bell intended to say was cut off with a cough from Adam and Kris was grateful. He stared into his porridge as Mister Bell updated the Captain on the state of the ship.

“The damage to the stern is being patched over but we’ll still need repairs when we dock. The hole was above the waterline but with the extra cargo, she’s riding lower and it could be an issue. I’ve looked over the ship’s accounts and we should have no problem with finance, but we will probably need to stop in New Providence for at least a week to ensure that everything is in order,” Mister Bell advised, “Mister Mills has a full accounting of what is left to do but it’s my understanding that most of it is replacing the rigging ropes for the top of the mizzen mast. We got caught by some chain shot, but thankfully it missed the mast itself.”

“And _La Mort_?” Adam asked.

“Thoroughly plundered and sent on it’s way. We gained an extra twenty cannon in the exchange and dumped the other ten overboard. They were of poor condition and wouldn’t have fetched us much in trade. We’ve gotten their food stores and their powder. They will present no further threat.”

Kris gaped at that. No money, no food, no way to defend themselves. They would be hard pressed to survive out here. Possibly they could make land in New Providence but like as not, they would have a cold reception there. Captain Dalzeel was known to most ships on the sea and had a foul reputation. Just the fact that he was left alive was surprising. Kris could not think it had been an act of mercy. Instead, he was irresistibly reminded how Captain Forester and his crew had faced the same fate and even now were probably attending Heaven’s shores rather than making land in Carolina.

“Captain, I wish to raise another issue with you,” Bell straightened himself and Kris found himself looking up.

“What issue?” Adam asked, pushing his breakfast aside and leaning forward a touch.

“During the fight last evening, several men were found away from their assigned stations and disobeyed several direct orders. In addition to this, when confronted about their conduct, they were insolent and continued disobeying orders,” Bell’s eyes were fixed forward, avoiding looking at either man in the room. He continued, “I believe that they endangered the lives of the crew and should be held accountable for their actions.”

Kris frowned. He had not seen anyone doing anything stupid last night, and other than the gun crews' momentary lapse in discipline, he could not recall any incident grand enough that Mister Bell had to raise it here to the Captain.

“Serious charges, Brad,” Adam steepled his fingers as his brow furrowed. “I cannot recall any incidents the like of which you describe. Did any others notice this dereliction?”

Bell sneered, “I’d say that near enough the whole damned crew noticed, Captain.”

His eyes flicked to Kris and Kris paled. Damn it all to Hell, Bell was talking about him. Well, Archie and he to be precise, but Kris doubted that Bell’s vitriol was primarily directed at Archie. Kris kept his features schooled, not reacting to the first officer’s words.

Adam’s eyes had narrowed, “Brad, you had best not be...”

“Sir,” Bell’s back straightened a fraction further, “As first officer, it is my duty to bring before you any issues regarding the crew’s competence or discipline. Mister Allen and Mister Archuleta were ordered to the ward room along with one of the powder monkeys and told to stay here until such time as the fighting was over or they were released. Neither of those conditions were met, Captain, and instead they ran onto the deck and started ordering the gun crews around. Naturally, the change caused a good deal of confusion and we lost vital time and shot as they struggled to deal with the change of leadership. As such, it is my _duty_ to bring these charges to you. That one of the men is your... _companion_ ,” the word dripped with contempt, “is just co-incidence.”

“Brad,” the Captain sighed, sitting back, “I was there last night, the chaos of the gun crews was there before ever Lieutenant Allen stepped onto the deck. And as I recall, the situation was only resolved when he took a hand and organised the men. I can hardly punish him for doing such a sterling job.”

Bell’s lips drew tight, “But Captain, he should have been...”

“Lieutenant Allen has given his apologies to me earlier concerning the matter of leaving the ward room and I have deemed the reasoning behind his decision to be acceptable.”

Kris had done no such thing, but he was hardly going to argue with the Captain in front of this officious little twerp who was just asking for a thrashing. What sort of gratitude was this? Kris had done a damned fine job getting the gun crews together and working as one. He’d gotten them firing straight and true where previously they had been fumbling. He’d taken over the other gun crew and hobbled _La Mort_ for pity's sake! What more could Bell ask for? The fact that Kris had stepped on his toes and done what the other man couldn’t seemed to have tweaked the man’s nose and now he was looking for vengeance. Well, if it was a fight he wanted, then a fight Kris would give him.

“He dared to give me orders, Ada-Captain,” Bell caught himself on the use of the familiar and slipped back into the formal titles that he’d used previously, “In front of the men. He authorised a prize of rum for an entire gun crew when he had no authority to do so. He overstepped his bounds, Captain.”

“And I have addressed the issue,” Adam replied, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet, “That is an end to it, Brad.”

Bell's jaw dropped, “He’s a pretty one, no doubt about that, Captain, and your type definitely, but I never thought to see you subjugated by a conquest so quickly. My word, Adam, is he that good in bed? Probably been on his back for half the fleet. But I suppose he plays the innocent well enough.”

Adam was nose to nose with him in an instant. His voice was dangerously low when he spoke and Kris could not hold back the shiver that ran through him, “Mister Bell, that is the last I will hear from you on this matter. Any relationship that I have with Lieutenant Allen is not for comment, either by you or the crew, is that understood?”

Bell took a breath, nodding.

“As for the other matter you raised, be assured that it has been dealt with and will not happen again. Pettiness does not become you, Brad,” Adam’s lip curled, “Keep a civil tongue in your head in my presence or there shall be consequences. Do not think yourself irreplaceable. We have a friendship that has weathered many things, but that will not slow me one second from tossing your carcass over the railing and leaving you as food for the sharks.”

Bell held up his hands in surrender, “You’re right, Captain. I overstepped myself. My apologies.”

Kris was surprised at the strength of the Captain’s reaction. The man looked to be a hair’s breath away from violence. Kris wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure what had set the Captain's temper smouldering and was hesitant to attract the Captain's ire.

“I’m sure you have duties to attend to, Mister Bell,” Adam ground out.

“Aye, sir.”

The man saluted and turned on his heel. Kris caught the look of distaste on his lips before he left and vowed to watch his own back. While he knew before that Mister Bell was not his greatest supporter on board, he hadn’t thought the man to harbour an active hatred. Now he was not so sure.

Kris needed space, he needed to think and here, with the Captain was not the ideal place. His head was spinning but not from concussion but rather from the Captain’s reaction. He recognised some parts of it, he’d seen it often enough, and he was not some damsel in need of saving. He was a grown man capable of thinking and speaking for himself, and he could have easily put Bell back in his place with a few words, but the Captain had stepped forward and defended him before Kris could speak, lying with an ease that Kris was not quite comfortable with.

“A walk, I believe, would do me good, Adam,” Kris forced a smile, “After the drama of the morning, and the exertions of last night, I believe that I should partake of a little exercise.”

Adam’s eyes flicked from Kris to the cabin beyond the door, “If it’s exercise you want...”

Kris’ eyes crinkled as his smile became more genuine, “The men need to see you and you need to get the reports from Mister Mills and the other chiefs. Would that I could keep you locked up in your cabin all day, but time and tide wait for no man. You said that you intended to steer us towards New Providence today and I, for one, am curious about the delights of the island.”

“You’re right, of course,” Adam nodded.

Walking over, he held an arm out for Kris, who joined him as soon as he stood, and they embraced, kissing deeply.

“Go now,” Kris pushed back on Adam’s chest, “Or we will lose the entire morning.”

He could already fell himself hardening in his breeches, his body priming itself for a repeat of the night’s more pleasurable activities. Adam pulled himself away and Kris resisted the urge to draw him back with herculean effort. He was nearly undone when Adam placed one final kiss on Kris’ lips before he retreated.

Kris waited for his ardour to fade before walking back to the stern and trying to find the hole that they were currently patching. He heard Cale’s voice before he saw the gathered crew and followed it down. The room was one of the long crew quarters, filled with hammocks except where they’d been removed to facilitate the repairs.

The men were gathered and were almost finished with their task by the time he arrived. Cale stood to one side, conversing with Cook and pointing to some of the boards while Archie had his shirt sleeves rolled up and was helping steady the boards while others more capable than he were driving the nails home. Kris stepped in carefully, avoiding the debris and made his way to Cale’s side.

“Good morning gentlemen, how go the repairs?” Kris asked, his voice low.

With crewmen around, he didn’t want them to over hear every aspect of their conversation.

Cale turned to look at him and a wide smile crossed his face, “They’re going well, Mister Allen. Good to see you out and about. Quite the stir you caused last night. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mister Bell quite that shade before. Clashed horribly with his fine fancies, don’t you think Cook?”

Cook looked about before he answered, “Yes. Thought he was going to have to be sent to the surgeons. Fit to burst, he was. I’d avoid him for the next couple of days, until his anger goes down.”

Kris nodded, “Aye, you might be right. He wanted to bring me up on charges this morning. Leaving my duty station, if you can believe that.”

Cale and Cook shared a look and Cook moved closer to the men, leaving Cale relatively alone with Kris.

Cale rubbed at the stubble on his cheek, “Fop though he may be, sir, he’s not to be underestimated. Saw him last night with a sword. He’s not to be trifled with. Not sure who I’d put my shilling on in a fight, if you know what I mean. I’ll see if I can assign you someone while you’re out and about. Just another pair of eyes.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Cale,” Kris frowned, concerned by Cale’s assessment.

“Might not be, but he can be quite the tricky bastard when he puts his mind to it,” Cale’s voice was rumbling low and his eyes kept a watch as he said it. “It might be no harm.” And then he was back to his usual self, light and friendly, “Not a bad showing last night from the men, don’t ya think, Mister Allen?”

Kris blinked at the rapid change of subject, “Not bad at all. Although, I think that you should possibly suggest that there be drills run now that we have some powder to spare. There was some confusion last night, although nothing that the crew couldn’t pull together and overcome. We gave those bastards a hiding and no doubt.”

Kris may have overdone the praise but the men had turned an ear to him now and any grievances he had with their behaviour had been settled last night while he was on deck. They were mostly Navy crew down here doing the repairs but there were a few through-and-through pirates as well.

Cook tested the patch, poking and prodding the tar around the edges with a length of stick, “We’re good here, Mister Mills. All sealed and it looks watertight.”

“Thank you, lads, make sure you stop by the mess on your way back up and grab yourselves some food,” Cale dismissed them.

Kris smiled as he saw Archie. With his sleeves rolled up, his hair rumpled and a smear of tar across his cheek, he looked the very picture of a seaman. The starch had gone from him and he looked relaxed, smiling effortlessly as he clapped the men on the back and told them that he would follow them up, “and if there isn’t any meat left for me then there’ll be Hell to pay!” He finished it with an easy laugh and the men assured him that they’d ask the cook to put aside a plate.

They waited for the men to leave before Archie turned to face him, the smile wider than ever, “Kris, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same, but it appears that you’re getting to be quite a hand at repairs,” Kris nodded to the patch.

Archie shrugged, “Well, I can’t take all the credit. If people didn’t take a liking to blowing up our ship, then I wouldn’t have half the practice I do now.”

Kris couldn’t help but laugh at that, “True, very true, Archie. It’s been an uncommon run of luck. You did well last night, you all did.”

“As did you,” Archie’s gaze dropped from Kris’ face to his collar and Kris frowned. Reaching out, Archie pulled down the collar of the shirt. “Either that or we’re going to have to search the ship for dread creatures that feed off the neck. Good Lord, Kris, didn’t you look in the mirror this morning?”

Kris’ hand shot up to his throat, feeling for something, anything, to understand Archie’s comments but there was nothing that he could feel. Archie plucked Cook’s knife from its sheath and Kris’ eyebrow arched at the familiarity of the gesture.

“Look in this. It’s not perfect but it might do until you can get to a mirror proper,” Archie said.

Kris took the offered knife and angled it this way and that until he could see his reflection. The knife was battered from use, but it showed a little, enough to see the dark marks standing out in stark relief against his pale skin.

“Oh good Lord!” Kris exclaimed. “What on earth?”

Archie smirked, “It seems as if your lover has a passion for marking his prize. A tad possessive, is he?”

Kris frowned, stuttering to cover his confusion, “I... I... I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Archie rolled his eyes, “Don’t play me a fool, Kris. We spoke last night of such things, and it appears that the nature of your relationship with the Captain has changed between then and now.”

Kris’ eyes flicked to Cook and Cale and then back to Archie, but Archie just shrugged.

“The three of us have spoken on such matters before and,” he sighed, “in truth, I had hoped that you would listen to my warnings, but Cook here said that you’d follow your heart regardless. I guess that’s a large drink I owe you, dearheart.”

Kris’ mind almost slid across the endearment but the word caught and tugged him back to it. Dearheart? Why would Archie call Cook dearheart? Unless... No, that wasn’t possible. Was it? And if it was, why was he so disbelieving about it? Was it simply that he couldn’t believe that he’d missed something so blatantly obvious, something that had been right in front of his eyes? The touches, the glances, the tiny gestures, he’d missed it all.

“Cale, if you’d be so kind as to...” Archie pointed to the door and Cale nodded, stepping back until he had a clear view of the door and the corridor beyond. Archie pulled over two barrels and put them in the middle of the room, “Kris, please, take a seat.”

Kris eyed the door, wondering if he could make it before one of the three caught him and forced him to have this conversation. But Cale’s arched eyebrow told him that he couldn’t in a way that words could not. So he sat.

“Kris,” Archie sat opposite him, leaning forward, “We’re concerned. You’ve been through a lot since _The Hawk_ was captured. You’ve put yourself under immense pressure, with the crew’s welfare sitting solely on your shoulders. You’ve been stuck in a cabin recovering with no one but the Captain for company for most of the time and we’re sorry for that. We haven’t been able to spare as much time as we would have liked to keep you company but are you sure that you want to pursue a relationship with Captain Lambert? His reputation is... widely known.”

Kris sighed, looking up at Archie, “I don’t know that I would call it a relationship yet. It seems a little premature. But, yes, whatever this is, I think I want it.”

“And what of Charles Towne and everything you left back there?”

Kris’ mind filled with images of his mother, his father, his brother and Katy, Katy whose future depended on him and his promise to marry her and help her to escape from her father’s clutches, and he was torn. He had never experienced an attraction like this before and now that he had it, could he let it slip through his fingers? It was a horrid decision that Archie was trying to wring from him and one that Kris did not want to think about. Not yet. But Archie wasn’t finished.

“To stay with him, you would have to put the Navy aside,” Archie said sadly, “Your career, the hopes of seeing your family again because it would not be safe for you in any Naval port. You must see that. It would be a lot to give up for only a chance at happiness. As I said before, his reputation paints him as a libertine, finding conquests at every port and leaving them wanting behind him.” Archie took Kris’ hand in his and held it firm, “We cast no aspersions on your character, Kris, nor will we. He’s an incredibly engaging man and attractive to boot but he is, and ever will be, a pirate. Never forget that. But if you love him, truly love him, then we three will wish you every happiness in the world and beyond, and we will stand by your side in full support.”

Kris could feel a pricking at his eyes and looked down at the deck, not wishing to make a spectacle of himself. He didn’t want to think about the future, but rather just enjoy the moment and the experiences that he and Adam had shared last night, but Archie sitting here, making him confront everything? Well, it was too much for him. It was far too early to think about such things. They had weeks before Adam planned to take them back to the Carolina coastline. Weeks or longer, and Kris had planned to enjoy his time until then.

Steeling himself, and drawing on every ounce of British Naval Officer inside him, Kris blinked back the burgeoning tears and looked up, “I appreciate your counsel, Archie, but you have no need to worry about me. I’m made of sterner stuff than you realise. I can handle the Captain and his reputation and when we make for Carolina, well, at that point decisions will have to be made by every man aboard, not just I, so I believe that we should table this discussion until then. Don’t you agree?”

Archie did not agree. It was plain to see it all over his face, but he sat back, shrugging, “If that is how you wish it.”

“It is,” Kris nodded.

“Then gentlemen, let us take our leave and leave the Lieutenant to his thoughts.”

Archie stood and pushed the barrel back against the wall. He gave Kris one final look, “If you should need to talk, Kris, the offer is always open.”

Kris nodded in acknowledgement and Archie left, Cook and Cale following on behind. Cale paused in the doorway and looked back, “Watch your back, Kris. Especially around the first officer. He doesn’t like being crossed.”

Then they were gone and Kris was left alone with his swirling thoughts. All the pleasant feelings from the morning had disappeared, some under the weight of Bell’s words and some under Archie’s, and though he knew that Archie’s concerns came from a place of friendship and respect, he could not quite bring himself to consider them fully. His thoughts turned to Adam, the crux of the issue and he sighed. More than anything he wanted to crawl back into the bunk and retreat from the world under Adam’s touch. The world was different here on the ship, isolated from everything until they made port again and Kris didn’t relish the hard decisions that were coming.

He didn’t think himself the type to jump from bed to bed, not even when opportunity presented itself. No, far from it. This attraction he had to Adam, this lightning bolt that connected them and sparked when they touched? This was everything, really and truly, but now, with the real world encroaching on him, Kris didn’t know what to make of it. Adam wasn’t the sort that he could simply bring home and introduce to his parents, not even as just a friend. Adam exuded a natural sexuality that would rock the foundations of Charles Towne, and with the dangerous edge that he had, the city streets would be alight within minutes. But after life here, could he really return to the world of rules and structure? Could he leave Adam?

This was a serious matter. It had been one night, one extremely long, wonderful night, but just one. He knew nothing of Adam’s plans, his thoughts, his dreams...his heart. For all Kris knew, Adam’s reputation was stark fact. Perhaps he had another man lined up in New Providence ready and willing as Kris?

Kris pushed that particular thought aside, not wanting to entertain it. He rose and straightened himself, being careful to hide his neck beneath his collar, and headed back to Adam’s cabin to await the Captain’s return.

It was hours before Adam returned, and Kris made himself comfortable, stripping off his shirt and settling back on the bunk with one of Adam’s books, a fantastical tale of Arabia and the many nights of intrigue that the author had passed there. Or something to that effect. Honestly, he could not focus on it. He kept drifting between the words as his thoughts shifted.

“My, my, what a pretty sight before me!”

Kris looked up and found Adam leaning against the doorway, an almost predatory look on his face. All of Kris’ thoughts scattered under Adam’s gaze and Kris reached out, finding comfort in Adam’s arms.

They didn’t talk, not about why Kris had retreated to Adam’s bed, nor about the future but it was happy and comfortable and Kris relished every moment they spent together.

 

  


 

Kris put the conversation behind him, letting the everyday tasks that he assigned himself subsume it and bury it deep down inside himself. For the first time, he was living in the moment, just taking each day as he found it and enjoying every stolen moment with Adam. He was aware of Archie watching him but he managed to neatly sidestep any more conversations of that ilk by asking questions about the men and how they fared.

Now that he knew about the relationship that Archie and Cook shared, he could see how much the men meant to each other. The glances, the small touches shared when no one else was looking and the pure joy that Archie seemed to have when Cook praised him. Though he played the worldly man, Kris had no illusions that it was not Archie but rather Cook who was the more practised in this sort of affair but he could see the love in the gruff man’s eyes and reflected in Archie’s. Kris found himself torn between wishing that such depth of emotion was similarly observable between Adam and he and hoping that they were more circumspect in their affections.

New Providence came into view just after midday and Kris was standing by Adam’s shoulder as he gave the order to dock. It was, on the surface, a port like any other but there was a gaiety to it that Kris had never seen before owing in part to his affiliations. Even though _The Hawk_ was a Naval ship with all that entailed, _The Madness_ was crewed by Pirates and welcomed home to the bosom of the locals. And that it was Adam at the helm made it even more special. The returning Pirate Governor was cheered from the docks and streamers festooned every one of the dockside buildings.

Kris knew from his earlier conversation with Adam that it was not just Adam returning, but rather all the Pirate Governors, and already he could see three ships at port, all flying pirate colours, and colours that Kris recognised. A shiver of apprehension ran through him as his Naval training came unbidden to the fore, working out the odds of facing not one pirate ship but three, but it was tempered by Adam’s hand at the small of his back and Kris remembered that, for the moment, he had nothing to fear from any of the docked vessels.

“Mister Bell, see to it that we are secured,” Adam called out and Bell grabbed those nearest to him and saw to the task immediately, “Mister Mills, if you’d speak to the master of the docks and see to the repairs while we are docked.”

Cale nodded and left to help Bell secure the ties and venture forth onto the deck. Kris left Adam to his duties, moving to the railing where Samuel stood watching the festivities below with wide eyes. Kris followed his gaze to where men hurried to tie off the ropes and others lined the way, waiting to welcome the men to shore. It would be the usual rabble, bar keeps, brothel owners and the like, all trying to entice the men away from what fortune they had by tempting them towards their establishments and jostling for prime position.

“The other monkeys say that we’re going to be allowed to go ashore,” Samuel said excitedly, “Is that true, Mister Allen?”

Kris smiled and scruffled the lad’s hair, “Aye, as I hear it. This’ll be your first port, Samuel, so keep your wits about you.” He pointed down at the gathered men below, “Those men and men like them see you as a coinpurse and not much else and they’ll do just about anything to separate you from what few pennies you have. Watch out for them and if you can, stay with some of the other lads.”

Samuel nodded solemnly and vowed to do just that. Kris smiled and slipped the lad a couple of pennies that he’d been saving for just such an occasion. They’d been at the bottom of his bag, hidden amongst his clothing and he was glad that none had gone through it in any great detail.

“And if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable...” Kris warned.

“Kick him in the goolies and run for it!” Samuel proudly filled in, chest puffing up as he answered.

Kris blinked. That hadn’t been how he’d planned to finish the sentence but he couldn’t argue with the lad’s plan.

“I was going to say extricate yourself and get back to the ship, but that works well enough,” Kris laughed, “Should I ask where you learned such interesting advice?”

Samuel bit his lip, “One of the other boys said it and...”

Kris waved off the rest of the answer, “Smart lad. It’ll work, Samuel, but be careful. It’s not every situation that’ll leave you such an opening. The most important thing is that you get yourself free and run like the wind, but remember that there are several places on the body that will work for a solid strike, not just the... goolies.”

Samuel nodded and listened as Kris explained. He asked questions when he needed to but otherwise just listened and watched as Kris spoke. When Kris was finished and Samuel had disappeared to share Kris’ lesson with the other monkeys, he turned to find Adam watching him with an amused expression on his face.

“My word, Kris,” Adam smirked, “And here I thought that Naval men only fought honourably. Had I known that there was a dirty fighter buried below all that polish...” he trailed off.

Kris’ voice was a low purr as he answered, “By now, you should know that I’m not all just starch and ribbons, Captain.”

“How could I forget?” Adam’s hand twitched, and Kris knew that he was eager to reach out but they were in public with the crew bustling around them and that was a boundary that neither of them would cross. “Before you go making plans for how to spend your time ashore,” Adam straightened himself, “There is to be a reception tonight in one of the more... acceptable taverns of the town, and I would like if you’d attend as my... partner.”

“Yes,” the word was out before Kris could think but no sooner was it said than doubts ran through him. “That is, I would very much like to but I’m not sure that it would be appropriate.”

Adam tilted his head a fraction to look at Kris, his brow furrowing, “Appropriate? How so?”

“A naval officer attending a function filled with known pirates? Surely your brother captains would be ill at ease in my company,” Kris had other reasons too, but this seemed the most logical to lay in front of the captain.

Adam shook his head, “That is of no consequence. Within an hour every person on this island will know every tiny detail of what has happened to _The Madness_ since we last left the port, and that’s even before you consider the fact that they will have noticed that _The Madness_ is now a frigate. In fact, to not invite you would be the insult.” Adam stepped back a step, considering Kris for a moment, “Unless it is more than that?” Adam sighed, “Perhaps I have overstepped myself. You’re uncomfortable attending as my partner. Then come as a friend, as the officer who signed an accord and now holds guardianship over the crew.”

Kris could see hurt in Adam’s eyes and ached to erase the pain, “I have no issue with being your partner at that function or any other. I just did not want to cause offence to the other governors.”

He wasn’t precisely lying, such an offence was a concern, but not his primary concern. Really, he was worried about how it would look when – if – he returned to the Navy. Having an officer attend such a function as a trophy, a spoil of war, could possibly be forgiven, but to be an equal partner, with all the freedoms that entailed, well... That was different. Questions would be asked and it would be another nail in the coffin of his naval career. But, he tried to justify it to himself, who would be there to tell the Navy? He couldn’t imagine any of the pirate captains casually sitting down with their naval counterparts and discussing the intimate actions of Lieutenant Kristopher Allen. Even paid and contracted privateers did not share that sort of relationship with the navy and Kris nodded.

“I would like to attend, if the offer is still open, as your partner,” Kris smiled.

Adam inclined his head, “It’s to be quite formal. I’m sure that Tommy will have something laid out for you. He seemed to have an idea earlier when I happened to mention the function to him.”

Kris huffed a laugh, “I have no doubt that all either of us will have to do is dress. He’ll have everything else attended to.”

Adam smiled fondly and nodded. He took his leave of Kris shortly after that, his attention required somewhere else. Kris stayed on deck for another few minutes, watching Bell sort the men into some semblance of order and handing out watch lists and going through the yay’s and nay’s of what to do while on shore.

“You may go to taverns and drink your fill,” he sighed, “but you may not sign on with another crew, not even by accident. You may spend time with the many wonderful men and women to be found in New Providence, but if you come back poxed, then Maya will have your hide. You may buy whatever weaponry you need, but it will be confiscated when you come back on board if it is not on the approved list – Mister Simmons, I’m looking at your for this – There will be no morningstars, flails, maces, pikes or anything of that nature, am I understood?”

Simmons and the men gathered around him nodded, murmuring their agreement to Mister Bell’s rules and Kris walked on.

Archie had duties of his own and was organising the quartermaster’s men, giving each some small amount of money and instructions on what they needed to buy while in port. Included in his instructions was advice on bartering, how much they should pay and when to walk away and try to find another vendor. Kris’ eyebrow arched at the shrewd words that he imparted.

Making his way below deck, Kris returned to his quarters, or rather the quarters he shared with Adam. Tommy was there already, as Kris expected he would be, and had laid out clean towels, a fresh bar of soap and a bronze bathtub of clean, warm water. Kris stopped stock still when he saw the bathtub and wondered how Tommy had managed to fill it with warm water, but the man was giving away none of his secrets.

“Would you like a book to read while you’re bathing, Mister Allen?” the man asked and Kris shook his head.

Tommy’s hands pulled at his shirt and before Kris could do anything about it, he was practically stripped. He smiled as he took the hint and set to removing his own breeches and undergarments. Tommy was the very model of a gentleman’s gentleman, turning his back until Kris was in the water. He didn’t even stutter over the many marks that Adam had left on his skin, lover’s bites and bruises from where he’d gripped a fraction too hard, lost in the pleasure of the moment.

Tommy made a good job of scrubbing him clean and then dried him off once he was done. Laid out on the bed was the formal uniform of a naval lieutenant and although it was not Kris’ – he had searched but his appeared to have not survived – it fitted perfectly. It was lavish, decked out in gold embroidery and the buttons shone in the light, almost blinding Kris. He ran a finger over the brocade and checked the seams. It was all expertly sewn and must have cost the owner a pretty penny.

He dressed quickly and straightened himself with the help of Tommy and a mirror and stepped back to admire himself.

“You’ll do, I suppose,” Bell drawled from the doorway, “I suppose you’ve got brains enough not to embarrass the Captain tonight. Do I need to remind you that you’re going to be in the presence of the most dangerous scum to sail under pirate colours?”

“You do not,” Kris did not look at him.

“Usually he has me by his side at these events, but for some reason I have yet to fathom, he seems to have picked you to replace me tonight. Can’t think why,” he examined his nails as the sarcasm rolled forth.

Kris took a deep breath and kept firm hold of his temper, “Honestly, I could not say. Well, I could but it would be impolite.”

“And the cat has claws,” Bell’s lip curled up, “See that you keep them for tonight. You’ll need them.”

Kris frowned, “Why?”

Bell rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, “Because, my dear, naive Lieutenant, these are the most dangerous scum to sail under pirate colours. Do try to keep up with the conversation! They share power here only because the alternative is outright war. They plot and plan against each other constantly and while all you will see on the surface is polite indifference, they will be watching for any chink that they can exploit.”

Kris thought on that for a second. It made sense. Uneasy alliances, such as this must be, were kept together only by careful politicking.

“Oh and Kristopher,” Bell’s voice was sickly sweet and Kris looked up, “Don’t be that chink!”

“I have no intention of being anything but a most able partner to the Captain tonight,” Kris’s shoulders went back in indignation.

“See that you are!” Bell said and then turned to leave.

Kris watched him go, following him until the door to the ward room snicked shut behind him. While the appreciated the warning, he could have done without the admonishment, or the implication that he would be the Captain’s Achilles heel.

Kris looked around for his sword belt and was unsurprised to find a different one laid out for him. Again, the contrast was remarkable. Black leather studded in gold and expertly fitted, his sword sat easily in the scabbard. Kris loosed the blade a notch and it slid home with a whisper.

Tommy would say nothing on the origins of the uniform or the belt, just frowned and enquired whether there was a problem when Kris asked, handing him his hat. Getting nowhere, Kris went to stand on the deck and wait for the Captain to finish his own preparations.

Men left the ship in groups, navy men and pirates alike, for, Kris realised, there was only one crew now. They were laughing and joking with each other over how much they would drink and how many girls they would lay and Kris could not help but smile. They were comfortable here and so was Kris, and the thought no longer startled him. No, instead it was like the warmth of an embrace or a lover’s kiss. Adam’s kiss.

Kris looked down at his clothing, rubbed his thumb over the stiff gold embroidery. He’d worn little else but his uniform the entire time he’d been aboard, partially because he had little else _to_ wear and partially to remind himself that he was different, set apart from the pirate crew. Was that true anymore, he wondered? There was a sense of peace here and one that he’d rarely felt aboard a naval run vessel and Kris did not wish to lose the sensation. More and more, his thoughts turned to Adam and the love that he had for the man. Could he simply abandon that and leave him behind, go back to a loveless life without so much as a word of protest? He didn’t think that he could.

He sighed heavily. Maybe tomorrow he would go ashore and purchase a few pieces of clothing more fitting to his new station here, something a little less officer and a little closer to who he was now.

He stood there, thinking, until a little after sunset when Adam laid a hand upon his back and smiled down at him.

“Are you ready to join me?” Adam asked.

Kris took a moment to think over all aspects of Adam’s question before replying, “Yes.”

And he was. He truly was.


	11. Unhappy Surprises and Broken Horizons

  


  


  
_12th June 1710  
The Devil’s Dog Tavern, New Providence_   


Kris would never have found the Devil’s Dog tavern, never in a lifetime and he was glad that Adam was by his side as he walked the streets. Unscrupulous men lay in doorways, watching them pass, their hands clutching earthenware flasks and half empty bottles. Adam paid them no attention but kept his hand near his sword, and Kris did similar, only breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the tavern’s sign swaying in the breeze down the street a little.

Two men stood flanking the door, their arms crossed and showing off impressive muscles. Adam inclined his head to the men as he stepped up. They looked down on him for a second before their faces shone with recognition and they tipped their caps back.

“The lady of the tavern says that there’s to be no fighting under her roof,” one of them said, his voice gruff, “She’s not ordered you stripped of your weapons but she’ll have it known that anyone wishing to start a fight under the tavern’s roof will have the fight ended and his life will be forfeit. Do you agree to these conditions?”

Kris’ eyebrows were high. The lady of the tavern must know who her clients were to be tonight. That she would threaten the pirate governors so blatantly must mean that either she was playing a dangerous game or she had the means and will to enforce her rules. Either prospect worried Kris but Adam simply nodded.

“Tell her that we agree to her rules and leave our safety solely at her discretion this evening.”

The men nodded and pushed open the door, stepping back to allow Adam and Kris to enter. Adam entered first, removing his hat as he did and Kris did the same, tucking it under his arm as he went. Silence greeted them as everyone turned to look at the new arrivals. Kris held his breath as he noticed that their eyes slid past Adam and directly to him, taking in his uniform and bearing. Kris did not move so much as an inch, barely daring to breathe.

Adam stepped forward, smiling, “Good evening all, and a pleasant evening to you all. Allow me to introduce my companion for the evening.” He turned to smile at Kris, holding out a hand. Kris took it and stepped to Adam’s side, “This is Lieutenant Kristopher Allen, an officer in Her Majesty’s navy and an officer of the former _Hawk_. No doubt you were all admiring _The Madness_ this afternoon. Lieutenant Allen, here, is the last remaining officer on board and is currently acting surety for his men. Be warned now that any man that insults him or otherwise intends harm upon his person will meet me at dawn on a duelling field and be staring at the sky at a minute past.”

Kris hid his shock at the introduction well but vowed to have words with _Captain Lambert_ later about his chosen method of breaking the tension. Still, while Kris was not happy at the details that Adam shared, he did have to acknowledge that the tension had lessened greatly and many had returned to their conversations. A few still stared at him, but that could not be helped.

The tavern was like most taverns for the most part, a large room with a counter at the back manned by a rather large individual who could have been the brother of both men at the door. But in the middle of the room sat a round table. Some sat at it, drinks in front of them, but Adam skirted it leading him to the bar, buying him a drink that Kris only sipped at. They stood with their backs to the bar and watched the men and women of the room while Adam explained the complicated relationships that he shared with the other pirate governors. Most were unremarkable, a story of double dealing and mutual respect but there were two that stood out.

“That man there,” Adam said, gesturing with his cup to a well dressed man at the other side of the room, “Is Nathaniel North. You’ll no doubt have heard of him.” Kris nodded and Adam continued, “That man was my very first Captain. A good man mostly, but a damned good pirate and one that I do not hesitate to call friend.”

Kris did not doubt Adam's word and yet Adam had not so much as spared a glance in the man’s direction before now.

“They why do you not go over to him?” Kris asked.

“It’s complicated,” Adam smiled as he sipped at the rum, “No others here know of our relationship, or if they do, they do not comment on it. North and I have been allies since this council was set in place, and along with a few others, we keep the council from succeeding in doing most of the outlandish things they’ve thought of since the last meeting.”

“And the man in the other corner, glaring daggers at you?” Kris asked, keeping his eye on the man without appearing to.

“Ah, that is Benjamin Hornigold, a pirate of middling prowess, but determined,” Adam looked away from the man to study his drink, “He hasn’t made a name for himself in terms of the Navy yet, but no doubt he will. He served as my first mate before Brad and I believe he still feels hard-done-by on that score.”

As Kris watched, the man pushed himself out of his seat and started towards Adam. He carried a cutlass, highly polished, and Kris doubted that it had seen much use, unlike the pistol that sat tucked in his belt. To Kris’ surprise, he did not look at Adam, but rather at Kris, smiling widely in a way that made Kris cringe.

“A lieutenant, eh?” Hornigold leaned in close, and Kris had to lift a hand to his nose to guard against the smell of foul breath and not enough soap, “And a pretty one too. Adam always did like living dangerously.”

Kris smiled a tight smile but made no reply.

“Standing surety for your crew,” Hornigold laughed, “Is that what they’re calling it these days? Oh well, I’ve always found that pretty little officers bend over so easily and scream so sharply. Tell me, lad, were you grabbing your ankles for him before he took your ship? Did he seduce you in port and get you to go along with his plan, or were you just easy pickin’s?”

Kris’ eyes narrowed at the man’s accusations and he squared his shoulders, “What business is that of yours, sir? Or is it simply that none of the tavern girls will go near you so you must resort to filthy stories to fill your needs? The Good Lord created soap for good reason as you amply attest. So perhaps you should look for a bathhouse instead of pestering me.”

“A pretty bit of fire, you got there, Adam,” Hornigold laughed, jiggling his purse, “What’s his price? I’d go an hour or two with a buck like that.”

Kris was indignant, “You, sir, could not afford me were you the most successful pirate in the room, which you are _not_. Now return to your corner and sit there until you are called on by your betters.”

Kris heard the sharp intake of breath from the gathered crowd and was aware of the stares of the others in the room. Adam’s hand was at the small of his back, just pressing lightly but Kris’ ire was up.

“My betters? You think you are my better?” Hornigold’s voice rose.

“I think you’ll find that I did not specify,” Kris looked around the room, “But from what I can see, or should I say smell, even the pigs in the gutter are your better. Good God, man! Did you sleep in a latrine last night or is that just your character seeping through?”

“You little bitch,” the man ground out and his hand went for his pistol.

There was a loud click and Hornigold’s hand paused.

“We don’t want any trouble here, do we, Benjamin?” a woman’s voice asked.

“No ma’am,” he shook his head.

“Then why not do as the Lieutenant here suggested and return to your corner and take a seat. We’re due to start any minute now, best get to business.”

Hornigold was quick to comply, but continued to send dark glares in Adam’s direction. Kris knew that the man would want revenge later but better that than think that he was going to bow down and take whatever was shovelled his way. Adam deserved someone who could stand up for himself and Kris was determined to give it to him, no matter the cost.

Turning his attention to the lady standing there, he was surprised to see that she was dressed in men’s clothes, a neat shirt with a waistcoat over it and breeches. In her hand was a pistol, still cocked and well used by his guess. She was shorter than him, or would have been without the flame red hair piled high on her head.

“You’ve got an interesting way of making friends, Lieutenant, but perhaps you could keep a tighter rein on your tongue? I’d hate to have to put a bullet between your pretty brown eyes.”

Kris swallowed. He was completely convinced that the woman would do it and not lose a wink of sleep doing so.

She turned to look at Adam, a smile spreading across her face, “Adam, always a pleasure.”

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, “And any day I see you is one to be treasured.”

“Flatterer,” she blushed a little and Kris could see dimples on her cheeks, “But plenty of time for that later. If you would, the table is awaiting your presence.”

Adam bowed to her and moved over to the table, quickly picking a seat. There were only enough seats for the governors and Kris took a place behind Adam, his eyes watching over the others in the room. It seemed that each of the governors here were similarly attended and that eased Kris’ mind a fraction.

The meeting itself was boring, with a half hour discussion on rates of taxation and the appropriate bribe that must be given if one is to escape charges. It was an education for Kris but he was careful to keep his expression neutral. Hornigold’s eyes followed each movement he made, and Kris ignored the man, while still watching him out of the corner of his eye. And so the discussions continued.

It must be midnight by the time they raised the subject of the Navy and there were several glances in Kris’ direction, all of which Kris weathered. The pirates knew that the Navy had started a campaign of routing out the pirates from the waters around the Caribbean and was dispatching more ships from England to help with the effort.

That was news to Kris. He knew of the mission that _The Hawk_ had been part of and suspected that they weren’t alone in their endeavours but to bring in ships from England to mount an offensive, that suggested that the Admiralty was tired of the pirate raids on their colonies and was getting ready to do something substantial about it.

It was Nathaniel North who brought the issue to the table, swearing that some of the traders he dealt with in the northern colonies, James Towne and York mostly, had told him that the Admiralty was redeploying ships south to berth out of Charles Towne until the matter was resolved. With those, and with the ships from England, there would be more than enough to chase down any pirates patrolling the waters for vulnerable ships ripe for the picking.

“Yeah, well,” Hornigold said, drawing the attention of every person at the table, “We know who we have to thank for that.” He raised his cup to Adam and took a hearty drink. “If _The Master of The Madness_ over there hadn’t been so keen to swap ships, we would have been free and easy on the waves. But no, he did it again, captured an officer and an engaged one no less. Did you know he was engaged to be wed, Adam, when you grabbed him? Was that his draw? Pretty wench she is too. Cries so nicely by the harbour every day as she begs the sea to bring back her love.”

Kris raised an eyebrow at that, not believing it for a second. Katy was not the type to sit and wallow at his misfortune. Nor did he see her traipsing to the docks every day to simply spend the time weeping away her day. She was far too practical for that and...

Kris trailed off as he noticed Adam tensing. He looked around to see the cause and then realised what it must be. Never during all their talks, had Katy come up. What must he think? Damn, he should... But Adam was already speaking.

“Hold your tongue, man,” his voice was harsh and Kris could hear the angry undertone, “Whether or not I snatched a ship out from under them is not the issue. _The Hawk_ was already engaged to the task before she was taken, and I’d bet my fortune that the other ships out of Charles Towne were too. This is just an escalation. And we will survive it, just as we have any other time the Navy puts to sea in search of pirates.”

“Aye, we will,” North agreed, “They do it from time to time. It just means laying low for a while and living on our earnings rather than looting. We have summer berths for that reason.”

There was general nodding around the table, but Hornigold was not convinced, “And what luck do we have with Lambert’s little talisman there? He’s probably going to slip his leash first chance he gets and run back to the Admiralty. Lambert too, can we trust him?”

Adam pushed to his feet and glared down at the offensive man, “I will not sit at a table any longer with a man who stabbed me in the back and then goes on to question _my_ trustworthiness. I let you live once, Ben, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I would be happy to meet you at dawn and we can settle the issue.”

“Aye, why don’t we?” Hornigold was on his feet now.

The red haired madam stepped to the table and tapped her pistol against the wood, drawing all eyes to her. She smiled and spoke, “Gentlemen, ladies, now looks like a good time to top up your drinks and powder your noses. Some time apart I think will cool the tempers here.”

And the meeting broke up, with people going to their separate places to think over everything that had been said. Kris put a hand on Adam’s shoulder but it was shrugged off. Adam turned to face him, fury visible in his eyes and Kris took a step back.

“We should talk, you and I,” Adam ground the words out and stalked off, going up the stairs.

Kris followed him, nervous energy collecting in the pit of his stomach. Adam opened one of the doors on the landing and growled something to the woman inside. She exited the room at speed, gathering her petticoats as she ran down the landing to another room. Adam waited until Kris had entered and closed the door behind him firmly.

“A fiancée? You have a fiancée waiting for you back in Charles Towne? And you never thought to tell me?” Adam stalked to him, looking down on Kris with anger in his eyes.

Kris cringed, “I never...”

“My God, you do!” Adam ran a hand through his hair and sat heavily on the bed and putting his face in his hands. “You do. Of course you do. How could I have been so foolish?”

Kris went to his side, reaching out to touch but Adam pulled away. Kris sat there for a second and in his mind’s eye, he saw everything start to slip away and he couldn’t, wouldn’t allow that. He loved Adam. God help him, he did, and while there was breath left in his body he needed to tell him that and make him understand that it was Adam that Kris wanted to spend his life with. Adam, not Katy.

Kris took a deep breath, “Yes, I have a fiancée. Her name is Katy, Katherine.”

“I care not a whit for her name,” Adam interrupted, looking up at Kris with wet eyes.

“She’s been a friend since we were children and truly that is all there is to our relationship,” Kris sighed, “She’s my fiancée through circumstances only.” Adam frowned at him and Kris pushed on, “When we were children and growing up I saw that there were times that she held her arm to her body or she limped when no one was around to watch. She never spoke of it, but I could tell that she was injured. When we were older, I asked her about it and she finally told me her story.” He shook his head, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s not my story to tell, but I need you to understand. Her father was, is, a brutal man who takes out his frustrations on those less able to defend themselves. He beat her. He beat her sister and even her mother. He beat the servants. Anyone he could get his hands on who was not in a position to fight back.”

Kris looked down at his hands and ran a finger over the bandages that held his hand immobile, “When her sister was eighteen, her father sold her off to settle some gambling debts that he had. He gave her away and when she protested and made to run away, he captured her and beat her so badly that she died. Katy dreaded that fate, simply dreaded it, so she packed and made a plan to run away. She came by my father’s house to say her goodbyes to me, must have been close to midnight. She was crying, tears all down her face and well... I never could stand to see a lady cry so I brought her in and we came up with a plan. I would ask her to marry me. That would save her from her father’s matchmaking and keep her safe. With my father being quite the respected figure in the town, O’Connell would not dare to try something so crass as to break the engagement. Not without good reason and neither Katy nor I ever gave him one.”

He knew that Adam was watching him still but he could not bring himself to look at the other man, “I love Katy, truly I do.” He felt Adam move away and reached out to him, catching his arm, “but it is as a brother loves a sister, and nothing more. It has never been more than that. I swear to you, I have never felt even a fraction of the passion that I feel for you. Not for Katy. But I had no idea what was missing.”

He looked up at Adam. The man’s face was unreadable again, and only the wetness of his eyes gave Kris a clue to the man’s emotions. He was torn, and so was Kris but Kris knew that he couldn’t stop there. He couldn’t give in while there was still a chance to have this... this whatever it was between them. Call it love, call it lust, call it whatever you wanted, but Kris could not deny that he would do whatever it took to keep Adam.

“When we kissed, when we touched, when we...” he blushed, “made love, I felt something that I had never felt before. You awoke a passion in me that I have never thought could exist and one I never want to forget. Adam, I love you. With my heart, with my soul, I love you.”

Adam looked at him for a second, the ghost of a frown on his forehead, “Then why did you not tell me about her? Why do I have to find out from Hornigold, a man who would do anything in his power to hurt me?”

Kris looked down. He could feel the shame burn his face, “I haven’t spared her but a handful of thoughts since we left port. Before _The Madness_ , there was _La Rochelle_ and after _The Madness_ there was you and only you.” He forced a smile, “Unless you count my trips to the surgeons' rooms.”

Adam laughed a little at that but the smile faded quickly, “Kris... I don’t know... I don’t think...”

Kris reached out and pressed a finger against Adam’s lips.

“Then don’t,” Kris said and leaned in, kissing Adam. “Don’t think, just feel.” He put a hand on Adam’s chest. “You know me, better perhaps than anyone else in this world. Do you honestly believe that I would have kept such a thing from you on purpose?”

Adam looked lost. A flurry of emotions flickered on his face almost faster than Kris could read them and this was possibly the least confident that he had ever seen Adam.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” Kris insisted. “You do, you just don’t want to get hurt and I know that feeling. Lord knows, I do, but Adam, I swear to you that I didn’t mean to hurt you. Anything, ask me anything and if I can, I’ll give you the answers.”

“I don’t want to ask anything,” Adam replied, “I don’t want anything. Just you.”

“You have me!” Kris insisted and reached out to caress Adam’s cheek, “I’d wager that you’ve had me since that first time we met.”

Adam’s lip curled up slightly, “We met a long time ago, Kris.”

“I remember,” Kris nodded, “A dark night filled with half-dead men. I remember. You were captivating.”

“And you were ferocious,” Adam’s fingers traced the line of Kris’ jaw, “Deadly with that sword.”

“And so were you.”

Kris leaned in, pressing his lips against Adam’s, “Forgive me?”

Adam kissed him, tender and slow and with the promise of many more to come, and Kris melted in his arms. Insistent hands pulled off Kris’ coat and pulled his shirt from his breeches. Kris quickly turned the tables on Adam and sunk to his knees before the other man. Their lovemaking was fast and furious, and filled with a passion that stole their very breaths from them. When they climaxed, they held each other, and only the strength and support of each other kept them upright.

“I love you,” Kris murmured, but the words were but echoes as Adam murmured at the very same time the very same words.

It was a heavy thump at the door and shouted words that pulled them from their shared world, “Gentlemen, the council is convening.”

Adam lifted Kris to his feet and righted his clothes and Kris returned the gesture. Everyone would know what they had been doing, but damn them all, Kris could not care less if the entire world knew. Adam smiled and pressed a final kiss to Kris’ lips before he opened the door.

His shoulders and back were straight and he walked proud, like he was the master not only of _The Madness_ but of everything he surveyed. Kris walked at his side, their hands brushing as they made their way down the stairs.

Adam took his seat and they were about to resume their discussions, when the door burst open. A man, a sailor by his dress but not one Kris recognised, ran to North and practically collapsed beside him. North offered his rum without hesitation.

“Reynolds, what is it?”

“The British, sir,” the man had not caught his breath yet but the words were easily heard, “The scouts have seen their sails. Ten ships at least, moving in to barricade the port.”

Adam was on his feet in a second and looking to Kris. Kris for his part was already grabbing for Adam’s hand and making a break for the door, dragging Adam along behind him. They slipped through the door easily, with the rest of the governors on their heels, but Kris wasn’t about to be outpaced. This was going to be difficult enough without losing time to the clamouring of pirates he didn’t particularly know or like.

The town was on alert now and the gaiety that had been there earlier was buried under a thick cloud of apprehension and Kris dragged Adam on, ignoring the men armed with rifles who were running across to the garrison. Women and children were erecting barricades and Kris was forced to dodge around people carrying tables and chairs from their houses to help the efforts. _The Madness_ was the closest ship and Kris dashed up the gangplank, shouting at the top of his lungs to recall the men.

Bell looked at him oddly and then glanced over his shoulder to Adam who echoed the order.

“Adam, I need to see your maps of New Providence,” Kris called over his shoulder, still running but now down to the ward room.

Adam was on his heels in an instant and opening his bureau to pull out the large scrolled maps of the region. Kris laid it down flat on the table and looked at it. Tactics flowed through his head from the many, many books he had been given to study for his Lieutenancy exam. A decent measure of personal experience knitted the whole thing together and Kris tapped the map.

“The navy will come from this direction more than likely, and attempt to barricade the harbour first,” Kris looked up at Adam and saw him nodding. “How accurate is this map?”

“Accurate enough,” Adam breathed.

“I truly hope so,” Kris murmured, studying the coast line. “ _The Madness_ is running heavy thanks to the cannon that were liberated from _La Mort_. Order Bell to have the men heave them up and dump them over the side as soon as you pull out from the port. Fast as you can. The water will be shallow here and you’ll need her to be light as possible if you don’t want to crash on the rocks and tear open her hull. _The Madness_ is fast, but she’s heavy even with nothing but bare timbers. You need her to be light. If you can spare some of the other cannon below deck, you might consider tossing them overboard too.”

Adam looked from Kris to the map, his brow furrowing, “You mean us to run, to turn our sails and speed from the harbour while the other crews stand and fight.”

“Yes, damn it I do,” Kris looked to Adam, his hand cupping Adam’s cheek, “It’s your only chance to survive.” Kris sighed and straightened, dropping his hands, “ _The Madness_...” Kris paused, gathering his thoughts and starting again, “ _The Hawk_ was the best ship to have this side of the Atlantic, the newest and largest ship to sail out of any colonial port, but if those ships are English, then you will be outmatched and easily. As it stands, _The Madness_ has forty-four guns. If even one of the ships out there is from England, then you are looking at facing down eighty or one-hundred guns and every one of them will be trained on you, and you especially, because you stole the jewel from America’s crown. You took her flagships.”

Kris sighed, eyes dropping to the map again even though he was not looking at it, “They’re going to be out for blood, Adam, your blood and there is little that you can do to stop them. So yes, running will give you the best option.”

Adam made to say something but Kris was not finished, “Just a few days ago, you told me that I didn’t have it in me to be an officer on board a pirate ship, and as much it galls me to admit it, you are right, but I _am_ an officer in the British Navy. I know how they think, how they move and what they plan. Let me help you in this. There is no other choice and though it may not sit well with you, the only other option is capture and death and I _will not_ let that happen to you.”

Adam smiled fondly down at him, “Then run we shall.”

Sighing in relief, Kris turned back to the map, “You must hug the coastline here. It’s night time, so they’ll use the cover of darkness to crawl into place, to close the net. With your dark sails, you should slip by them, but the men must be silent. No noise because they’ll be listening for anything. No lights, nothing but men sounding the depths. Keep to the deeper waters when you can, but be prepared. Put your best man at the helm.”

“Aye, I shall,” Adam nodded. His smile turned to a frown and his hand found Kris’, “And where shall you be during this midnight adventure?”

Kris bit his lip, not wanting to answer. Damn the Navy for choosing now to strike. Damn them all. He’d just made his peace with Adam, with this lifestyle and they were here to snatch it away. Kris couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe and Adam was shaking his head.

“No, Kris. No. You can’t!”

The words were scarce above a whisper and each one drove a pain through Kris’ heart.

“I must, Adam, and you know it.”

“It doesn’t have to be... You don’t have to,” Adam was shaking his head violently, “I refuse to...”

Kris cupped his cheek again and drew Adam closer to press a kiss to his lips, “You cannot refuse and you know it. You bloodied their noses and they want to thrash you for that, but worse than that, you took their people. If they take the port and find us here, it will slow them down just long enough for you to slip by. It will win you a few more minutes, a crucial few minutes that will allow you to make good your escape.”

“But...” Adam tried again but Kris cut him off with another kiss.

“I love you, with all my heart, you know that, and I would be with you always if I could, but I would rather go back to the Navy and to Charles Towne than watch you walk to the gallows. Spare me that fate,” Kris begged, “Please, Adam.”

“I can refuse you nothing,” Adam’s eyes shone wetly in the lantern light and Kris kissed him one last time.

Kris lingered only a second longer, before turning on his heel and making for the deck. He couldn’t hear footsteps behind him and he didn’t stop to look. He simply didn’t have the strength. Every fibre of his being cried out to stay, to never leave, but he had to. He had a duty to perform, one final duty and he would see it through, even though it wrenched his soul, tearing it in two.

It was a walk of only two dozen steps but it took an eternity, each step taking him further away from his love, from where he wanted to be, from his rightful place at Adam’s side, and it cut like a knife.

The deck was in an uproar as men ran this way and that getting the ship ready to put to sea, but Kris cut through the maelstrom of activity and made his way to the gangplank. Archie stood there with Cook and Cale, and Kris nodded in acknowledgement.

“They say the British are moving to barricade the port,” Archie said, not quite making the words a question but Kris nodded anyway.

“So the scouts say, Archie. _The Madness_ is running for it and I pray she makes it.”

Archie’s eyes widen at that but he wisely said nothing except, “And your orders, Lieutenant Allen?”

Kris shook his head, “I will issue no orders, Archie, not today.” Kris’ eyes looked over the deck and caught on Adam as he stepped out. “Tomorrow maybe, but for today, I’m not sure that I have heart enough left.”

He looked at Adam one more time, offering him a formal salute, holding it longer than he should, before he turned his back on the man and started down the gang plank. He could feel Adam’s eyes watching him, following him but he dared not look back.

“Faster, men,” Kris ordered the men running towards him, up and onto _The Madness_. “Start casting those lines off. Quickly now!”

“You heard the Lieutenant. We don’t have all night.”

It was Cale’s voice and Kris turned to see him heave the heavy ropes from their stays and cast them off. Archie and Cook were doing the same to the other lines, with others helping. Kris frowned as he looked at them, not fully understanding why they were there and not on board the ship. He opened his mouth to ask them but something came barrelling at him, slamming into him and almost casting him into the sea.

Kris fought, a flurry of fists and kicks and – God help him – bites and it was only when the man pulled back that he recognised Davis’ face looking down at him.

“Traitor,” the man cursed, “Sold us out to the British just like I knew you would.”

Fists rained down on Kris and even though Kris defended himself, the man had weight on his side and was using it to pin Kris to the ground. At his periphery, Kris could see Cale moving towards him, Cook too, but Davis fought on. Kris struck a blow solidly to the man’s back and Davis arched back. Kris was about to reach for his dagger, the dagger that Cook had given him all those weeks ago, when...

BANG!

A shot rang out. A pistol shot and Davis toppled backwards, a mess of blood and brains, and Kris was startled. He looked to Cale and Cook and even Archie but they were a puzzled as he. Finally, he looked up, to _The Madness_ and Bell stood at the railing, lowering his pistol with a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

“That’s twice, I believe,” he called down and Kris could only nod, “Oh, and I’ll expect you to have my uniform freshly laundered when you return it.”

Kris blinked and looked down at the uniform, now splotched with red. This was Bell’s uniform? This? His mind simply could not comprehend that fact. He looked up again, and Bell was gone, only to be replaced by Adam. Kris crawled free of Davis’ body and stood.

“Tell your Katherine that I will expect her to take good care of you. I’ll expect you hale and hearty when I come for you. And I _will_ come for you,” Adam promised.

“And I’ll be waiting,” Kris promised in return.

There was no time to say anything more. _The Madness_ started to drift out into the harbour. Kris watched it go. Cale’s hand rested on his shoulder and Archie spoke soft words to him, but Kris did not hear them, every fibre of his being focused on the retreating sails.

As he watched the sails of _The Madness_ disappear behind the corner of the harbour, Kris prayed, he cast up his thoughts like never before in the true and fervent hope that when next they crossed paths – for cross paths they would – that it was not under enemy colours, for in truth, Kris could not wish them ill intent.

Watching the horizon for a moment longer, Kris sighed and eventually turned towards to town. He straightened his shoulders and set himself the task of putting Adam from his mind, but it was an impossible task, for his heart and soul rested with the Master of _The Madness_ and would forevermore.


End file.
